


until you come back home

by aubadezayn



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: American AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Completed: February 7th, Cross country roadtrip, Cuddling & Snuggling, Demisexual Zayn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Famous Zayn, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Interior Designer Harry, Liam and Louis and Niall are all American, M/M, Manager/Artist Relationship, Meet-Cute, Minor Zayn Malik/Harry Styles, Non-Famous Liam, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Past Sexual Assault, Portland Oregon, Psychological Trauma, Rape Recovery, Singer Zayn Malik, Smoking, Student Liam, Tattoos, Trust Issues, Zayn-centric, all the prior tags apply to Zayn/OMC ONLY, not sexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-22 21:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9625694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubadezayn/pseuds/aubadezayn
Summary: zayn's 18 when he meets craig, a manager/agent who promises to make his dreams of being a famous musician come true, but derails the next years of his life.zayn's 21 when he flies to the u.s.a, buys a car, and drives across the country trying to escape the past - and meets several people along the way that help him heal, and change his life for the better.





	1. harry

**Author's Note:**

> Yoo! So first, you can come find me on tumblr as [@aubadezayn](http://aubadezayn.tumblr.com)! Second, this is my first ever one direction fanfiction, and I'm happy to be starting with ziam, please be kind! Be good! 
> 
> Second, this fic deals with a lot of really intense, emotional subjects which are personally very close to my life, and I've tried my absolute best to warn for them and treat them sensitively. If something specific shows up in the fic and you believe it should be tagged and it is not, please let me know! 
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: This fic does deal with past rape, including past emotional and sexual abuse/manipulation/abuse of power against Zayn by an original male character. The rape itself is not graphic besides some mentions of Zayn remembering it/speaking about it to other characters, but there _are_ a couple minor scenes depicted in which the OMC manipulates/acts abusive towards Zayn. If you think this material might be triggering or traumatizing for you, please do not read, and if you do decide to read proceed with your own caution, keep yourself safe. This is first and foremost a rape RECOVERY fic though, and all abuse/rape are in the past and occur only with the OMC.
> 
> Third, Doniya is Zayn's primary guardian/family in this fic, which is by no means a representation of his real family or any opinion of mine on his family. I know Zayn's other siblings and parents are extremely important to him in real life, but I've removed them because of personal reasons and it doesn't really impact the story very much.
> 
> Fourth, the italicized sections are the past, and the normal are the present. The use of "--" within a present-time section means that there's been a small time jump.
> 
> Fifth, I'm a mere American, I've tried to Britpick some stuff but I've probably failed or used out of date slang or whatever, excuse it plz!
> 
> Sixth, and finally, this fic is COMPLETE! I'm just posting it in increments :) Please enjoy!

The only signs that morning has begun are the birds chirping, the sick nausea in his stomach and the insidious spread of blue-grey light. Sunlight beginning to bleed over the horizon, painting the shadows darker and the blank walls of the highway rest stop in front of him lighter. Employees are finishing the late, late shift and spilling out in slow spurts, walking to their cars with staggering steps and tightly clutched keys. The people taking over for them crawl into the building rubbing their eyes and yawning, cups of coffee strapped to their palms like a life saver.

 

Zayn stretches in the backseat of his car when the blue starts to fade away and it’s more morning than it is dawn. He hasn’t slept more than a few fitful minutes, worrying about being in a strange country, strange state, strange parking lot. It also wasn’t too comfortable to sleep with your head resting on balled up clothes, covered by a cheap throw he’d bought at a Wal-Mart.

 

His toes flex in his socks, toes cracking and tendons pulling. He needs to get on the road soon, but he needs tea more.

 

Popping open the back door and getting out, bare socks on the dirty parking lot concrete, Zayn stretches warily. The lot is still mostly empty besides the parked employee’s cars and a couple recent pull-up’s resting or already inside the building. He pulls at his jumper and reaches down into the footwell of the back seat to grab his boots.

 

When they’re on, and he’s dressed decently enough to be around other people, he grabs his keys and wallet from under the passenger’s seat where he’d tucked them last night while he slept.

 

The car beeps cheerfully as he locks it, and he heads up the pavement towards the front of the building. Rest stops in America are different than back home, they smell more like bleach, have brighter lights, and to Zayn’s dismay, very limited tea selection. The only tea available is the bottled kind, of the iced tea variety Americans like so much. The attendant watches Zayn hover in front of the case with a blank, bored stare so he moves along to grab some crisps for later and a cup of coffee instead.

 

He hands over what he thinks is the right amount of money, and isn’t surprised when the attendant hands him back a lot of it before actually going through the transaction. It’s not that US currency is hard; he just hasn’t dedicated any time to learning it. On his way out he gives the attendant a goodbye nod, and they pass each other by like blips on a radar.

 

By the time he’s reached his car, he’s already forgotten their face.

 

Once his coffee’s in the cupholder, and the cheap sandwich he bought is unwrapped and ready to eat with one hand, he throws the car in reverse and wheels out of his spot. The air is foggy as he merges onto the highway, following the American green signs towards Tallahassee.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Why bloody Florida?” Doniya scoffs when she sees the map laid out on their coffee table, and the star written over Miami, Florida. “Why the US anyway? If you want some heartfelt, emotional road trip why not at least do it at home?”_

_“I’m not explaining this to you again.” Zayn says around the sharpie cap between his lips. He dots a line up Florida through West Palm Beach, Orlando, Tallahassee and up into Georgia. While he wants to try to follow this when he’s there, the actual plan he’s carefully dotting across the US is complete rubbish. He picks cities either because they’re marked larger on the map or because he’s vaguely heard about them._

_He doesn’t really plan to stay in any of them for extended amounts of time so it doesn’t matter. Part of this is just reassurance for Doniya, so she can look at the map and know where he might be._

_He doesn’t intend to check in much either._

_“Oh, did you already explain it once?” Doniya asks mockingly, rolling her eyes. “I’m going to the US on a roadtrip.” Her voice deepens and becomes jokingly broody, and Zayn finally looks up to see her with exaggeratedly furrowed brows and pouting._

_“Oh good!” Zayn forces a wide mouthed smile, and gives her a thumbs up. “You did hear me!”_

_“That is not an explanation, if anything it requires more explanation because you physically can’t ‘road trip’ to the US!” She throws up her hands, huffing loudly. “I don’t know why I even bother trying to talk to you when you get like this.”_

_“Like what?” He says, going back to drawing a line up towards Tennessee._

_“Broody. Melancholy. Masochistic. What are other synonyms for emo?”_

_He taps his chin with the Sharpie’s back end and hums thoughtfully. After a second he points to her and snaps his other hand on his knee. “Introspective.”_

_“Asshole.” She snaps, crossing her arms. “And I can’t even come with you? What happens if you blow a tire? Or get lost?”_

_“I’m pretty sure there are auto shops with new tires in America. I think I can handle being alone in one of the most populated countries in the world too.”_

_“The US has bloody massive murder rates you know!”_

_“Maybe I’m hoping I’ll get lucky and be chosen?” Zayn asks sarcastically, looking down at the map to hide the fact that he’s not necessarily lying. The whole reason for this road trip is the strangling hopelessness he’s felt for months, made only worse by Doniya’s cloying positivity and pushing. Get back out there! Don’t give up! I’m here for you! All of the affirmations in the world didn’t help him escape the insomnia and depression that had kept him practically squatting in Doniya’s apartment for the last six months._

_“Maybe you will.” Doniya snaps, glaring at him with full angry force. She pauses for effect before striding away down the hall and slamming her bedroom door. Zayn drops the Sharpie onto the map, where it leaves a little black mark somewhere in the Midwest, and relaxes against the couch pillows with a heavy sigh._

_His whole body feels tight, like dry foreign skin is stretched too far over his brittle bones.  He exhales and inhales slowly a few times, practicing the exercises Google had given him for anxiety attacks. It doesn’t help very much, but it does help his resolve even more. He has to go, danger, loneliness, Doniya’s disapproval. He needs to get away from England, away from all the reminders of everything that sits on his back strangling him with anxiety._

_The sun fades around him, until the only light left is a dim stream through the blinds onto his map. He hears her footsteps before he actively notices he’s dissociated, before he comes out of the cloud he’s sat in for apparently hours._

_“Zaynie? Habibi?” Doniya asks, her hand gentle on his. She taps each of his fingers, drawing him slowly out of the haze he’d sank into. She seems far away, the sides of his vision hazy like he’s walking through a tunnel. When he feels like he’s grounded back into his body, and notices that it’s nearly dusk, he turns their hands so they can intertwine._

_“I’m sorry.” She whispers, her other hand coming over top of theirs to completely encompass his. “I know that…the things you’re not talking about, the nightmares keeping you up, is why you’re going. Right?”_

_Zayn nods, not knowing what to say, or if he could stomach the energy it would take to say it._

_“I wish you would confide in me more.” Doniya admits, patting his hand. “But if you go on this trip, and you come back feeling better? I don’t ever need to know more…I just need you healthy, and happy.”_

_“I want to tell you.” Zayn says, words breezing off his tongue quietly. He shakes his head, shrugging one shoulder. “I just – I gotta – I gotta get it all sorted, in my head first, ya know? I can’t…talk about it much until I’ve sorted it.” He doesn’t know what else to say, so he pats his sister’s hands and leans in until his head rests on her shoulder. The hand not held by Zayn comes up to stroke across his hair._

_The night rolls up on them quietly, and once Zayn’s feeling whole again, if not good, they eat take out on the floor and talk about all the crazy things he might see in the US. When the sun rises again, Zayn kisses Doniya’s forehead where she sleeps soundly, puts the letter he’d wrote her days before on the side table and heads out. Duffel bag of clothes and some possessions in the backseat of the taxi with him, phone playing music through his headphones, and a half-finished plan on a map are the only things he takes to the airport._

 

* * *

  

He stops at a park/rest stop somewhere just before Tallahassee, and pisses in a grimy bathroom. When he looks in the mirror afterwards while washing his hands he realizes how tired he looks. His eyes are dull, and baggy. His hair, shaved down just before he’d decided to leave home, has started to grow out just a little and stands greasy against his skull. If Doniya could see him, she’d be sitting him down for chai and a loo gosht within a second flat.

 

Outside the bathroom is a sign talking about fascism, and a forgotten shoe. Zayn tucks up the collar of his coat under the gentle flickering fluorescent light before walking back to his car. The parking lot isn’t too full with the sun setting, and Zayn stops for a moment to stretch. He should have a cigarette, take a breather, stretch his legs a little more. He’s driven most of Florida in less than one day, stopping only to piss and eat and rub out a cramp in his calf.

 

Maybe he should get a motel room. He could call Doniya, shower, update his offline Spotify playlist.

 

“Hey!” Zayn spins around immediately on guard, keys ready in his palm. He’s been jumpier over the last couple of months, but being in a strange place all alone has made him even more paranoid. He calms down a little bit when he sees that it’s just a young girl, hands held out nonthreatening.

 

She’s got pink streaks in her hair, and is wearing a short skirt. “You got a cigarette, bro?”

 

Zayn considers saying no, and then shrugs. “Sure.”

 

She smiles, though it’s a little rough around the edges, and he shakes one out of the pack from his pocket for her. He decides just as he’s about to put the pack away that he might as well join her. His lighter takes a couple tries, and then the tip of the cigarette has flared to a red.

 

“So you’re like, British?” She asks, clearly taking the cigarette as an invitation for conversation. Zayn shrugs again, though his accent is a pretty dead give away. “Why are you in Florida?”

 

“Disney.” He says, the first excuse that comes to mind. In fact, he had thought about going, even almost bought a ticket, but when he’d got to Orlando it had seemed too weird to go alone. Families, friend groups, lovers, Disney wasn’t a place for lonely solo parties. He’d driven through with only a stop at a gas station.

 

“You have fun?” She asks, but doesn’t give him the chance to respond. “Me and my family used to go to Disney every weekend, we were pass holders.”

 

“Cool.” He says, feeling like he has to say something in this conversation he didn’t ask to have. Smoke blows out of his mouth in a slow gentle trickle till he exhales the full cloud.

 

“Where you headed now?” She asks, and Zayn shakes his head nearly immediately. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t – “

 

“I gotta go, nice meeting you.” He stamps out his cigarette under his boot and strides around the car till he’s climbing back into the driver’s seat. It’s still strange to be driving an American style car, on the “wrong” side of the road.

 

Throwing the car into reverse, Zayn floors it till he’s speeding out of the rest stop, the girl only a faint pink blur in the rear view mirror.

 

When he’s back on the road and cruising comfortably, he looks up motels on his phone.

 

* * *

 

 

_“How much?” Zayn asks, pointing to a faded clunker with a missing side mirror and a broken tail-light sitting off to the side. The guy showing him around, a tall redheaded guy who’d complimented Zayn’s tattoos and shown a couple of his own, shrugs._

_“That’s one I’ve been working on for awhile, but it’s still in need of some TLC. I could give it to you for two thousand, thousand five hundred, but you’d need to cough up for a couple more repairs.”_

_Zayn scans over the car one more time, eyes tracing the missing parts. “What is it exactly, I don’t really know American brands that well.”_

_“It’s an ’85 Dodge Diplomat. Just a simple four door sedan. Good gas mileage, has a great intact engine still.”_

_“How about 1 grand?”_

_“Man…”_

_“It’s over 20 years old, mate.” Zayn sighs, waving out towards the car. He has a pretty hefty savings account after everything, but that will dwindle pretty fast. The little bit of money he’d made working at Tesco after tour wasn’t very good, and went mostly to helping Doniya with rent and food so they wouldn’t have to touch his savings from tour. Maybe when he runs out of money, he’ll just drive back and forth across the continent and sing for pennies and free meals._

_“How about one thousand five hundred, and you help me fix it up and I’ll save on manual labor.”_

_“I don’t know shit about cars.” Zayn laughs, probably giving himself away and losing on the whole haggling process, but the guy just laughs too._

_“Well...I’m Jake,” he holds out his hand, finally introducing himself fully. “And lucky for you bro, I know a lot of shit about cars.”_

_Zayn smiles again, and shakes Jake’s hand. “I’m Zayn.”_

_“Great, so let’s do some paperwork, and we can get on it right away and get you out of here ASAP.”_

 

* * *

 

 

“Here’s your room key. Just down the hall, take a right. Wifi password, and the number for the front desk.” She slides the little folder across the front desk to Zayn, and then blows a bubble in her gum. “Have a _great_ night.”

 

This isn’t the worst place Zayn’s ever stayed, but it is a shifty little place outside a big city with only a few cars in the parking lot and questionable mold on the wall behind the front desk. But it will do, for one night.

 

He heads down the hall, rubbing at his eyes which had gone bleary and hazed hours ago. Still jetlagged as well, so while the Floridians are sitting down for dinner, Zayn’s ready for bed.

 

Thankfully the bed doesn’t look gross, but he does peel up the sheets to check for bed bugs. After that he collapses on top of the ugly duvet cover and lays his head on his arms. He smells like travel and fast food, his clothes are sweaty and dirty, his leg aches from nonstop driving. He wants to pass out and call it a night, but instead he rolls over and breathes. In, out, in, out, slowly till his entire chest expands and contracts with the breathing.

 

The ceiling is stippled in that way Americans like, and he traces it for patterns.

 

His phone is burning a hole through his jeans, and after somewhat successfully finding a bunny, an eye, and a middle finger in the ceiling’s senseless patterns Zayn pulls it out and holds his thumb to the fingerprint ID. His wallpaper is a photo of him and Doniya from his birthday two years ago, which he still can’t believe, and he’s smiling so genuinely it hurts to look at.

 

He has close to a hundred texts from her, most of them early in the day and slowly steeping off towards the end of the day. The last one is a good night text, and a prayer that Allah has kept him safe, that he’s okay and please text her back. It’s been about a week and a half since he left home, though it feels like a lifetime has passed.

 

He texts her that he’s nearly arrived to Tallahassee, the car he bought is running well, and that he’s safe. He hesitates to send it, and then shrugs and presses the button. After it says delivered he turns his phone completely off and drops it on the bed.

 

It’s not much, but it should bring her some comfort.

 

Zayn goes to the bathroom and relieves himself quietly, wishing for a second that he’d kept driving. The motel room is too lonely, too silent, has too much room for his own thoughts. He came here to try to run away from those.

 

The shower is a grimy but clean enough for him to use it, with little motel shampoo and soap that smell like limes. He strips off calmly, in no hurry with just himself for company. He catches a glimpse of his tattooed body in the mirror and shies away from the sight, that voice ringing in the back of his mind with slimy compliments. They barely feel like they’re his anymore, no matter that he did some of the art, chose them, labored over cleaning and tending to them.

 

The hot water helps calm him as it sluices down over his head, the pressure surprisingly good. He washes the little bit of hair that’s grown back in thoroughly, working all of the day’s sweat and grease out till he feels lighter. He washes his body a little more briskly, not lingering anywhere for too long, or even thinking of touching himself. Masturbation had always been natural, normal, a pleasure he could indulge in during quiet alone moments to unwind.

 

Now he can’t remember the last time he wasn’t completely flaccid.

 

A cloud of steam follows him out of the shower stall, and completely fogs the mirror so he doesn’t have to see himself while he dries off completely and brushes his teeth. He stands naked in the room, making in the cool air from the box air conditioner at the window, and then gets dressed mechanically. When he slips into the bed and switches off the lamp, the dark feels eternal.

 

It stretches out around him, and he forces himself not to fill it with thoughts. Not to think of Doniya, not to think of home, not to think of Craig.

 

He goes to sleep with his shoulders tense and his mind racing, being chased by unwanted touch and regrets.

 

* * *

 

_Two years ago Zayn was going to college, thinking of maybe studying art but probably actually studying law. He liked singing, and music, but that wasn’t a real career. He was normal and young, and completely anonymous. No one knew his name, no one cared._

_Then he played guitar, and some backup vocals for his mate’s band Slasher Wheels and things changed._

_“That was amazing Zaynie! Thanks so much for filling in mate, I would have hated to have to miss this gig just ‘cause Terry’s got a cold.” Wheaty thanks him with a hearty slap on the back after they got off stage. Slasher Wheels has been trying to get a gig with more than five people in the audience for years, and Terry had gotten sick at the absolute worst moment for them. Zayn offered to help out because Doniya pushed him to, talking about socialization and getting out of his comfort zone._

_“No problem, bro.” Zayn says, uncapping his water bottle and chugging it. Slasher Wheels has some pretty enthusiastic rock songs that don’t sit that well with Zayn’s voice, but he’s proud of his range tonight._

_“Hi,” A voice says from behind them, and Zayn finds it’s come from a tall man with dark brown hair and sunglasses on at night, smiling at him them crookedly. Zayn scoffs internally at the man’s sports blazer and shiny shoes. He’s not old enough to be pulling this John Stamos kind of look. “I’m Craig, you guys were really great tonight.”_

_Zayn tries to let Wheaty take this since he’s just covering anyway, but Craig sticks his hand out right at Zayn. Wheaty’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline in surprise. He tries not to be offended, he was pretty good tonight it’s not that far of a reach._

_They shake hands, and Zayn says, “Thanks, I’m just covering for a sick member though. Wheaty here is the brains of the machine.” He slaps his hand on Wheaty’s back, and tries to sidle away to leave them to it but Craig reaches out like a dart and snatches Zayn’s forearm. He pulls Zayn in till they’re pressed side to side, which would be extremely strange anywhere except for this crowded club, where he supposes he can excuse the closeness as just wanting to be properly heard. He does so, and two years later he still thinks about that moment._

_“I’d actually love to talk to just you, I think you have the most incredible potential.” Craig says all of this in a half whisper against the curve of Zayn’s ear, his breath sending shivers all down Zayn’s left side. Wheaty’s face falls as Craig drags Zayn away, grip firm on his bicep and he tries to convey an apology before Wheaty disappears into the crowd._

_“Mate, this isn’t my band. Let me go.” Craig releases him immediately, and Zayn rubs the spot warily. It hasn’t bruised or anything, but he certainly doesn’t enjoy being dragged around like a bad little kid._

_“No this isn’t your band. Honestly, you’re better than this band.” Craig says earnestly, pulling up his sunglasses to reveal a big set of icy blue eyes. “You’re better than Bradford, Zayn and – “_

_“How do you know my name?” Zayn asks, fear curling up his spine. This is like the situations they show in BBC documentaries where kids get abducted and their parents cry in front of cameras twenty years later. Maybe that’s a little dramatic, they haven’t even fully left the club. There’s a drunk girl twerking right next to them, that gives him some semblance of safety._

_“I heard you say it to your friend!” Craig holds out his hands, palms facing Zayn. “Look, I’m not some creepy pedophile, I’m an agent. I’ve helped several artists get out of this exact same small town, small band funk, and I think you could be quite successful.”_

_“Why me, though? It was only a couple of songs, and I wasn’t even lead or anything.”_

_Craig smiles at him, “You have no idea how you look, do you? Or sound? Or carry yourself?”_

_Zayn shrugs, fidgeting with his phone. “I don’t know what you mean.”_

_Craig moves in closer, and he smells like expensive cologne and cigarettes. “The world would just eat you up.”_

_“That makes even less sense.” Zayn says, looking Craig up and down like maybe he’s pulling his leg. “I’m just Zayn, just a kid from Bradford.”_

_“I could make you more.” Craig firmly says, hand going Zayn’s wrist again and tapping once before trailing down to the phone between his fingers. “I’m going to give you my number, okay, babe? And if you want to make it big, you wanna be a star? You call me.”_

_“Okay,” Zayn exhales, sure he’s tense as a pole as Craig taps in his number, and slides Zayn’s phone back into his jeans pocket. Craig pats it once, fingers lingering on the denim for a second before sliding away. He disappears into the crowd with a backwards wink to Zayn, and leaves adrenaline pumping through Zayn’s veins._

 

* * *

 

The day after, Zayn takes things a little slower. He stops in Tallahassee to eat lunch at a park, letting the occasional cool breeze ruffle his hair and the sun tan his skin. He drives slower, takes the farther out lanes on the highway that move slower. He’s forgotten in his haste to run away that he’s not actually headed anywhere concrete.

 

He stops for famous barbeque and takes a couple of photos of the sunset for Doniya, and posts one without location to his Instagram. It has more likes than he’s comfortable with after a couple of minutes, and he regrets it but doesn’t delete it. Running doesn’t make things disappear sadly.

 

When he finally gets to Atlanta he checks into a hotel and actually brings all his stuff up to the room. He has enough money for more than one night, and he needs a break from driving. After a quick nap, he even goes down to the hotel gym and runs a few miles, the sweat bleeding away some of his stress and anxiety.

 

Then he heads back upstairs for a shower, and when he gets into the elevator at the lobby level there’s already a man inside. Zayn’s dripping with sweat, and probably rank from travel and working out, so he tries to hover as far away as he can to the side. This man looks vaguely familiar, and he’s got long curly hair drying gently on his shoulders. He’s in a pair of wet swim trunks with black and white penguins all over them, and a towel draped over his shoulders.

 

“Floor?” He asks, accent startling Zayn for a second. What on Earth are the odds of another British person being in Atlanta at this exact moment, in the same elevator as him? Probably not too rare, actually.

 

“Six, please.” Zayn answers, trying to suppress his own accent a little bit but failing clearly by the wide-eyed, smiling expression the guy throws him.

 

“Hey!” He says, turning to Zayn completely and showing off a large butterfly in the middle of his chest as the towel shifts. “I’m Harry, you’re from the UK?” He holds out his hand, which has rings dotting almost all of his fingers. A strange thing to see from a man who looks like he’s just been swimming.

 

“Zayn, yeah.” He shakes Harry’s hand, resigned to conversation as the elevator beeps open at the second floor but he doesn’t get off. “So, why are you here in Georgia?”

 

“I’m an interior designer, I have this show, you might not have seen it – “

 

Zayn clicks his fingers, realization coming over him. “No, no I have actually. You’re Harry Styles, right? You go around the world giving people the living room or bedroom of their dreams?”

 

Harry laughs sheepishly, “Yeah, well when it’s put that way it sounds even more silly.”

 

He shrugs. “It’s nice. Good show too, you’ve got a good eye.” Harry smiles again, dimples forming in his cheeks attractively. The elevator beeps at Zayn’s floor and they both look to the opening doors hesitatingly. “Well…I’ll see you ‘round.” Zayn says, arm held out to stop the elevator from shutting. There’s something calming and exciting about this, something he hasn’t really felt in months. Harry might be a bigger name than Zayn wanted to associate with on this trip, but he’s just a nice guy in penguin shorts, nothing frightening.

 

“I’m on the 2nd floor, room 202…if you wanna drop by, we could get lunch or something.” Harry says, and then waves a hand at him nonchalantly. “Either way it was nice hearing a familiar sounding voice.”

 

“Yeah, maybe.” Zayn says, pulling his arm away reluctantly and letting the doors shut on Harry’s bright smile. “Maybe…”

  

* * *

 

 

_“Zayn, where are you going?” Doniya asks as Zayn’s headed out the door. “It’s past your curfew.”_

_“I don’t have a curfew.” Zayn keeps walking, pulling his hood up against the cold of the open complex hallway. He hears Doniya shut and lock their front door before she’s hurrying after him._

_“You do now!” She grabs him by the shoulder but he spins out of her reach. “Zayn! Just, at least tell me where you’re going.”_

_“It’s private, Doniya, please.”_

_“Don’t make me worry about you like this!”_

_“It’s nothing to worry about!” Zayn snaps, coming to a grinding halt at the top of the stairs and gently pushing Doniya back away from him. “I’m not doing drugs, I’m not having reckless sex, I’m just meeting a friend.”_

_“Who!? We’ve never had secrets like this before, habibi, I’m worried about you.” Doniya starts counting on her fingers, Zayn rolling his head back in frustration. “You don’t eat, you barely sleep, you lock yourself in your room for hours if you’re even home at all! Your letter from Manchester is just sitting on the counter unopened, don’t you want to go to college?”_

_“I have a lot going on right now, I’m busy – “_

_“Too busy for your future?”_

_“This is my future!” Zayn snaps, pulling out his phone and angrily unlocking it. He clicks through until he finds the snippet of him and Craig working in the studio, with real equipment on real songs. He holds it out to Doniya who takes it hesitantly like it might explode._

_Zayn can hear the quiet tinny of his own voice as Craig films him from out of the sound booth with the audio coming through. Doniya puts a hand over her mouth, gasping. “What is this? Zaynie?”_

_“I’ve been working on some songs, solo stuff, with this guy Craig Talmon, he’s an actual producer and agent. He found me at one of Wheaty’s gigs covering for Terry, and he…he thinks I could make it big.” Zayn takes his phone back, and watches a series of emotions run across his sister’s face._

_“This…this is…how do you know this guy is for real, Zayn? He could be any weird predator – “_

_“I’m 18, not 8! And would some sexual predator pay for studio time? Would he have had a conference call with someone like Pharrell?”_

_“Are you serious?” Doniya gasps, sounding impressed for a moment before going right back to angry. “But what about university! Zayn, you’ve never even talked about this type of thing before, don’t you want to have a stable future to fall back on?”_

_“Since when are you all about stable futures?” Zayn snaps, shaking his head and heading down the stairs, Doniya right on his heels. They’re making a huge scene; the neighbors will be salivating at the mouth over all this gossip._

_“Since Mum and Dad left you in my hands! You’re my responsibility –“_

_“No, no.” Zayn says firmly, stopping abruptly on the stairs and looking up at his sister. “I’m not. I’m a grown man, Doniya, I can make these decisions on my own.”_

_“I’m your sister – “_

_“And I love you, babe. I love you, but I’m 18 and I want this.” Zayn steps up one more and takes his sister’s hand between his. “Please?”_

_“I’m meeting this Craig guy as soon as humanly possible, you know that right?”_

_“’Course.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow, against all odds, and all of Zayn’s inner discussions, he ends up outside room 202 later that night. He’s about to leave, all his anxieties rushing forward when he’s in front of the door, when he hears the little chain inside come undone and it starts to open.

 

“Hey, Zayn.” Harry greets him like they’re old friends, coming out of the hotel room in a loose pair of joggers and a t-shirt with camels patterned across it. “You got here at a great time, I’m heading out soon to go shopping, you wanna come with?”

 

“Shopping for what?”

 

“Stuff for the show! I usually do a preliminary sweep of local stores so I know where to take the client to look around,” Harry shrugs, shifting to lean against the doorjam. “Plus I just like to shop, and I hear Atlanta’s pretty good for that.”

 

“Sure, I guess.” Zayn crosses his arms. “What if I’m some psycho fan?”

 

Harry laughs out loud, startling Zayn into laughing too. “Well there’s no better way to go than while shopping, let me buy something before you wear my skin.”

 

He steps away from the door, leaving it wide open for Zayn to follow him inside. It’s strange being in someone else’s hotel room, not that he hasn’t before. When he was on the road, Craig had basically instituted an open door policy – but it had never stopped being strange to Zayn to have no privacy and respect no one else’s.

 

Harry’s room has several personal things in it like he’s been there for a couple days, unlike Zayn’s where the only sign he’s there is the rumpled bed. He has a humidifier set up, his clothes are hung up in the open closet, and from the brief glimpse Zayn gets of the bathroom there are toiletries scattered all on the counter.

 

“So, why are you here in Georgia?” Harry asks, head bent down while he ties his shoes.

 

“I’m driving cross-country.”

 

Harry looks up at him inquisitively, eyebrow quirking. “Is there like, something in Washington you’re headed to?”

 

“Nope.” Zayn shrugs, looking out the floor to ceiling windows behind Harry.

 

“You’re just roadtripping?”

 

“Yeah, basically.” Zayn shrugs again, feeling uncomfortable. “I needed a break from things, and every book says a long drive fixes that.”

 

“Good sound logic.” Harry nods approvingly, standing up and grabbing a set of keys attached to a simple black wallet from the dresser. “Just make sure you buy an up to date map, and don’t eat the berries.”

 

Zayn decides not to ask.

 

\--

 

After getting lost in Harry’s rental car for an hour, they finally park in the lot outside of a trendy antiques store Harry had Zayn read the Yelp reviews of while they drove. It’s called Fancy Fancy, which Zayn finds funny despite himself. Harry leads the way in confidently, keeping Zayn close to him as they head into the aisles.

 

It’s a massive store though it doesn’t look like it from the outside, and objects are stacked on shelves that go all the way up to the ceiling. The first thing Zayn notices that makes him feel a little giddy is a vintage Batman poster mounted on the wall, and he fingers the wallet in his pocket thoughtfully. “Batman, huh?”

 

“I’m into comics, you?”

 

“Not too much, you should get it. Only 50 bucks.” Harry reaches out to touch the tag tucked into the corner of the poster’s frame.

 

“I don’t know…”

 

“Is there anyone who can help us out over here?” Harry calls, ducking to look around one of the tallest shelves for an attendant.

 

“Harry!” Zayn whispers roughly, surprised by Harry’s audacity, and almost surprised that he didn’t expect it.

 

“Hello?” Harry calls again. “Oh! Hello, hi.”

 

A woman comes around the corner and holds up a hand in a gentle wave. “Hi, how can I help you?”

 

“We’d love to buy this Batman thing.” Harry gestures to the poster. “Also I’m so sorry about shouting, your store is incredible.”

 

“Oh, thank you, and it’s totally fine.” Her accent springs across the words with a gentle twang, and she comes forward to the poster, taking it down off the wall. “If you’d like to follow me, I can ring you up! Or if you’re still looking, I can hold it at the front desk for you.”

 

“That would be fantastic, I think we have some more shopping to do, right?” Harry glances over at Zayn and crooks his eyebrows in question, but doesn’t give him any time to respond before he’s looking back to the woman and smiling brightly. “Thank you so much…?” He trails off charmingly, and the woman smiles back.

 

“Candace.”

 

“Thank you so much, Candace.” Harry winks at her, then grabs Zayn’s wrists and starts dragging him towards a wall of carpet tiles.

 

“You charming prat!” Zayn cackles once the woman is out of earshot and Harry laughs, plucking a blue and green carpet tile off the wall and running his fingers through it.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with smiling, or being nice.” Harry smirks. “Ladies love the dimples.”

 

“They are pretty nice.” Zayn flirts, just a little, feeling out of his depth here. Harry looks up at him and smiles softly, more genuine than any Zayn’s seen so far. Then he reaches out and pinches Zayn’s cheek.

 

“You’re cute.” Then Harry’s taking other carpet tiles off the wall casually and testing them out against his hands.

 

* * *

 

 

_Craig laughs out loud when Zayn tells him that Doniya wants to meet him. “She can meet me when you’re signing your record deal, babe, we’re too busy for family chats.”_

_“It’s just my sister and I, wouldn’t take more than five minutes.” Zayn argues, watching Craig casually cut a piece of chicken off of Zayn’s plate. “So she can get off my back about you, and I can actually focus on the music –“_

_“Babe.” Craig snaps, pointing at Zayn with a firm, harsh expression. “I already said no. You tell her whatever you want, I’m busy making you a star. You do…want to be one, right?”_

_“Of course but – “_

_“Baby, baby,” Craig purrs, scooting closer to Zayn in the isolated booth. His hand comes over Zayn’s, and Zayn bitterly thinks about how much he hates being called baby. “One day your face is going to be on every magazine, and your voice on every radio station, and it won’t matter what your sister thought of you.”_

_“It matters now though.” Zayn retorts, knowing that 10, 20, 30 years from now his sister’s opinion will always matter to him._

_“If you keep talking about this Zayn,” Craig says, leaning in a little more, hand tight on Zayn’s. “I’ll pull the plug. All our hours of work, all your energy and talent, wasted because your sister is nosy. But hey? At least your sister likes you when you work at Tesco.”_

_He leans away and Zayn finally inhales, for the first time in the last several minutes. His hand shakes just a little underneath Craig’s. “Alright, babe?” Craig smiles, eyes crinkling completely opposite to his tone, and the conversation._

_“A-alright.” Zayn nods._

 

* * *

 

 

“I can’t believe I bought that.” Zayn mutters when they get back into Harry’s rental jeep and there’s a massive Batman poster strapped into the back seat. It’s nice, that he’ll admit, but it seems crazy to have bought on a cross-country road trip. It’ll be tucked in his trunk the whole time and he’ll have to pay a ton to have it shipped back to England with him.

 

“Might as well…right?” Harry says, seemingly unruffled by the fact that they left with an additional five boxes and bags for him. Zayn can’t imagine what it must be like to have shopping be a huge part of your job, but he supposes his own job was no less ridiculous from the outside either.

 

“You want lunch?” Harry asks, already turning into the parking lot of a Panera. He doesn’t park but swerves into line at the drive through.

 

“Sure,” Zayn chuckles. “So who is your client in Atlanta? Are you allowed to say before it airs?”

 

“Are you going to tell HGTV?” Harry asks seriously, peering out the window at the menu.

 

“I don’t know what that is.”

 

“Great!” Harry smiles. “It’s a single father, who wants me to decorate his daughter’s room.”

 

“You have any idea what you’re going to do?” Zayn asks, writing down his order on his phone so Harry can just read it off to the speaker when it’s their turn. He’s never been here before but a sandwich and soup sounds safe.

 

“Well I have to consult with her first, since not every little girl is the same and I –“ Harry pauses to give their order, schmooze the faceless employee, and roll his window back up. “Don’t want to force gender roles or things she doesn’t actually like on her.” He finishes, like he never stopped.

 

“That’s progressive of you.” Zayn says, Harry’s eyebrows furrowing before he realizes Zayn’s pulling his leg.

 

“Haha,” Harry mocks. “I pride myself on every customer getting exactly what they want, which is why I shop so much so if they ask me for Moroccan modern blue carpet, there’s a good chance I’ll have something to match that theme.”

 

They get to the window and Harry pays without letting Zayn pass him cash for his half. “So what do you do when you’re not finding your inner Jack Kerouac?”

 

“Um, I work at Tesco.” Zayn answers, deliberately filing his mouth with crisps as they drive away.

 

“Come on, I’ve told you practically my life story!” Harry exclaims, holding half his sandwich with one hand and driving with the other. “You _cannot_ work at Tesco alone?”

 

“No, I have a lot of coworkers.”

 

Harry glares at him, till Zayn sighs and chomps on a crisp. “Fine, I…sing, a little.”

 

“There we go!” Harry practically shouts excited. “I knew you had a creative soul in there, what do you sing? Are you famous? Do I know your music?”

 

“Probably not,” Zayn shrugs. “I didn’t really make it big.”

 

“Name me one.”

 

Zayn tries to think of the most likely song Harry would know, and asks “Pillowtalk?”

 

“Pillowtalk!?” Harry gasps. “Are you kidding me, mate? I love that song, that’s yours?”

 

“Yeah, well, I mean it was my first professionally produced song, my manager Craig didn’t think it was going to be very popular – “

 

“Well fuck him, mate, because it’s incredible.” Harry tosses his sandwich down on the carton in his lap and reaches for his phone. Eyes completely on the road he holds his phone to his mouth and talks to Siri, asking for her to play Pillowtalk. Zayn cringes, but doesn’t complain.

 

His voice comes blasting out of the car radio and all he can hear is Craig talking over it, yelling at him about slipping off-key, calling him Baby when he’d get tired, yelling at him about the lyrics and how the song wasn’t going to be successful if Zayn didn’t listen to him. He feels like he can actually feel Craig on him right now, a continent away, hands on his shoulders and chest and neck while Craig leans over him critiquing all the sound adjustments being made.

 

Zayn hears the silence before he realizes he’s reached out and slapped the radio off. “Whoa.” Harry mutters, looking at him cautiously like he’s a ticking time bomb, and Harry’s not sure whether to cut the red or blue wire to turn it off.

 

“Sorry, I – um, I –“

 

“It’s okay, mate. I should have asked first…”

 

Zayn nods shakily, and the ride back to the hotel is awkward and silent. When they’re parked, and Zayn is hoping he’ll disappear into the ground, Harry turns to him and bites his lip. “It’s okay, Zayn. I overstepped your boundaries, you should have just told me.”

 

“It’s not your fault, it’s…I’m glad you like the song, thank you.” Zayn rubs his hand over his eyes and scratches at the day old scruffy beard he’s building. “I’m just…kind of a mess right now, and I get it if you don’t like, ever, want to see me again.”

 

“I don’t think anyone on a cross country road trip is 100% alright,” Harry says. “And I’m kind of heading out tomorrow to go meet my client.”

 

Zayn shuts his eyes, trying not to feel rejected and disappointed since he’s just met Harry. It’s just that everything is so raw right now, he feels peeled open and he has for months. Craig slit him open and broke down all his defenses, and now anyone can come in and wreck him.

 

“But…if you maybe wanted my number, and…wanted to spend the night, I’d be cool with that.”

 

* * *

 

_Maybe the first sign, looking back, that Craig didn’t have good intentions was the night where Zayn stayed at his apartment with him because they were writing all evening into the night, and it was too late for him to get the bus. Zayn was on the brink of 19, he was pleased with some of the lyrics they were crafting, he was naïve but he didn’t know that till years later._

_Zayn yawns, burying his face in his hoodie’s neck and coming back out to see Craig sipping at his coffee and scribbling out a line they’d just wrote. He checks his phone, swiping away a text from Doniya saying good night and seeing that it’s nearly 3 AM. “I need to shower and sleep, Craig, I’m done.”_

_“Popstars don’t sleep, babe.” Craig says not looking up, pen between his teeth._

_“I’m not one yet, I need to sleep.”_

_“Fine, fine. You can shower in my bathroom.” Craig waves him off, and Zayn sluggishly drags himself to the master bedroom. He locks the bathroom door behind him and strips off his clothes slowly, rubbing at his shoulder where it aches idly. It’s been several nights of pretty intensive writing, and Zayn hasn’t rested for longer than three hours since they started._

_Zayn itches at his side gently, just around the edge of where his first ever tattoo is healing. Craig had insisted that it would be hot, and add to his image, and Zayn had chosen it himself. A little Japanese symbol that he hopes actually means “Born Lucky” and he’s not wrong about the translation._

_Craig said it was hot. Zayn just wishes it would heal faster._

_Zayn’s completely naked and under the water when he hears the door knob jiggle. He pulls his head out from under the spray and peers through the sliding glass door, wiping away the fog, but nothing happens. The sound doesn’t come again. He shrugs and goes back to washing his hair, cleaning days of exhaustion out of his skin and scalp._

_This time, he hears the door unlock, and freezes under the water. He’s completely nude, and there’s not a towel close enough to the shower for him to wrap up in. He spares a worried thought for Craig, and what the intruder might have done to him out there, and then the door opens._

_Craig comes in, and Zayn inhales shakily. “Craig, what the fuck are you doing?”_

_“Relax, I have to piss.”_

_“I’m naked.” Zayn snaps, hand over his dick in case Craig can see through the foggy glass somehow. All those childhood lectures their parents, and teachers, and Doniya had given about private places, and safe zones, wash over Zayn anxiously. He’s always been private, and he trusts Craig in a lot of ways but…not this way._

_“I know, babe, relax.” Zayn hears Craig’s zipper, and then the sound of urination. Guys pee next to each other casually all the time, but one of them isn’t usually completely nude and soaped up. The toilet flushes, and Zayn relaxes minimally as he hears the sink run, and the door shut._

_He sighs, closing his eyes. He wants to not be freaked out, he wants to be as casual and mature and confident as Craig is, but he’s not._

_Just as he’s finally starting to unfurl again, the shower door slides open._

_“Craig! Get the fuck out!” Zayn shoves at the man as he crowds into the small shower stall with him, nearly slipping and taking them both down._

_Craig laughs hysterically, undressed completely, including where Zayn refuses to look. “I need to shower too, we might as well conserve water I’m not made of money.”_

_“I’ll pay the whole bloody bill if you get. Out. Now!” Zayn tries to shove him again but Craig just catches his wrist and pulls him closer, their bare skin brushing together. Zayn’s heart seizes for a moment before Craig twists them so he’s under the water and Zayn’s in the cold spot being hit by spray. “Craig – “_

_“Since when are you so shy, babe?” Craig sneers. He laughs again, and Zayn pouts. “It’s not like I’ve never seen a dick before, Zaynie, we’re all adults here. Myself being a gay male, I’ve seen plenty of dick, relax.”_

_Zayn doesn’t want Craig to know he’s a virgin, but he’s uncomfortable. He’s never had anyone touch him, or see him like this. He keeps his hand firmly over his dick, scared if he even flexes a finger Craig will get an eyeful Zayn doesn’t want him to._

_Craig looks absolutely fine, head tossed back and rinsing out shampoo. Zayn hates himself a little bit for watching the water rush down Craig’s chest, he feels voyeuristic and dirty. When Craig starts soaping his body, and lingers on his dick, Zayn shuts his eyes tight and waits for the shower to end. He no longer feels relaxed, or like he cares about being clean, he just wants to leave._

_He knows Craig wouldn’t let him though._

 

* * *

 

 

Harry and he eat dinner separately but meet back up at room 202, and Harry invites him in for a drink and to watch evening game shows. They talk over Jeopardy; Zayn discussing some of his other songs and describing what being on the road was like, and Harry talking about why he became an interior designer.

 

When the night is starting to get long, and Harry’s head in on Zayn’s shoulder, Zayn feels like he knows where this is headed, but he’s not sure he wants it to go there. He hasn’t had sex for a long time, and the last time was…not good. He’s not sure he trusts Harry enough yet to even be aroused... The more he thinks on it, the more anxious he gets till Harry finally sits up and frowns at him.

 

“You’re shaking like a leaf, Zayn.” Harry bites his lip. “If you want to leave, you can.”

 

“No!” Zayn says sharply, grabbing Harry’s hand in his. “I just…don’t want to have sex.”

 

Harry laughs lightly, dimples coming out when he smirks. “A little presumptuous don’t you think? I just met you.”

 

“I mean, I didn’t –“

 

“It’s alright.” Harry assures him. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. What _do_ you want to do?”

 

Zayn thinks on it for a moment, considering. If this is the last night, in such a short rollercoaster, there’s a part of him that still wants it to be memorable. Still wants this eccentric, gentle man to leave an impression on his life.

 

“Let’s get a tattoo.” Zayn blurts out, gritting his teeth together right after.

 

“Okay.” Harry shrugs, and Zayn perks up in surprise.

 

“Really?”

 

“Have you seen the giant butterfly on my chest? I don’t have any qualms about getting tat’s, let’s go!” Harry bounces off the bed, dragging Zayn with him.

 

\--

 

“Alright, so what are you getting?” Harry asks Zayn as they both peer into the only tattoo artist still working this late’s book. The artist in question is finishing up another client, and then he’s vowed that they’re his last clients for the night. He hadn’t seemed too bothered by being here so late though so Zayn doesn’t feel guilty.

 

“I wanted you to choose.” Zayn says quietly, pulling his shirt a little bit to expose the Japanese symbol on his hip. “Whatever it is though, has to cover up this.”

 

Harry reaches out to touch it, and his thumb is smooth and warm against Zayn’s skin. It doesn’t feel invasive, but still intimate. “How about…a heart? Just a simple full black one? Cover the whole thing up.” Harry thankfully doesn’t ask why Zayn wants to cover it up, and Zayn likes the idea enough.

 

“Sounds great. What about you? Any ideas?”

 

“How about you choose?” Harry offers. “Something for me to remember you by.”

 

Zayn peruses through the artist’s portfolio more, pausing when he flips to a page filled with simple text tattoos. Suddenly, he knows what he wants, and he thinks Harry just might love it. “How about ‘Might as well’ same spot as mine? You –“

 

“Said it about the Batman poster!” Harry grins at him, throwing an arm around Zayn’s shoulder. “That’s perfect.”

 

“You guys ready?”

 

“Yep!” Harry says, hopping up on the sterilized bench and pulling up his shirt. “Right here, we want the words ‘Might as well’, maybe three dots afterwards? You think, Zayn?”

 

Zayn nods, “Sounds good.”

 

“Great, easy enough. Any font or handwriting you want in particular?”

 

“Could it be in yours?” Harry asks, looking at Zayn, who nods again smiling. “Great!”

 

* * *

 

_“You really could just sleep in the bed, Zayn. This is ridiculous, you’re acting like a child.” Craig complains when Zayn sets up a bed for himself on the couch after their terrible co-shower. Craig’s still in only a towel despite the cool apartment, and he watches Zayn get dressed with crossed arms._

_“I just want to sleep, Craig. Alone.”_

 

_“You know…sometimes I forget that you’re still just a kid.” Craig snaps, disappearing down the hall to his room._

 

_It’s not the first time Zayn feels terrible about his age and inexperience around Craig, definitely not the last either._

 

* * *

 

He drives out of Atlanta the next morning with a fresh, covered tattoo on his hip and a new contact in his phone. He texts Doniya a photo of the skyline, and a photo of his new black heart tattoo that Harry took.

 

He Instagram’s it to the world with the caption ‘Atlanta treated me well x’.

 


	2. niall and louis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zayn's roadtrip continues to the midwest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm apparently not one of those writers who can wait to post chapters.....especially if they're all done....
> 
> thank you for all the kind comments on chapter one!!
> 
> note: there is one past scene of domestic violence in this chapter, but it's extremely quick and non-graphic. it's also the only/last example of violence/abuse in this fic, the rape happens off-screen completely and is only MENTIONED as having happened later.

Zayn drives seven hours and sleeps in his car at a rest stop, gently washing his tattoo with a water bottle from the vending machine. He doesn’t trust the sink’s water to not have lead or some other weird shit in it. The next day he drives 6 hours, losing his mind a little bit, and arrives outside Topeka washed out, exhausted, and ready to sleep for a week.

 

The hotel he checks into is small, and cheap, and the attendant gives him his key with a frown. Zayn does exactly what he wants and sleeps for nearly an entire day.

 

When he finally wakes up and doesn’t feel like he’s about to pass out again, his hair is matted down on the left side of his head, his chin is covered in drool, and he looks like he’s gone a couple rounds with several states. Which he has. Traffic in Missouri was a bitch.

 

On a whim he calls Doniya, but she doesn’t pick up so he leaves a voicemail telling her he’s arrived safely to another city and she should call him back, whenever. After that he showers, dresses, and heads out in search of food, his stomach grumbling loudly the entire time. Closer to Topeka but still on the outskirts Zayn finds a sports bar/diner with pretty good Yelp reviews, and apparently live music according to the chalkboard sign outside.

 

_The Yeller_ is…small, intimate. It seems like a diner from a show about a small town, even though it’s right outside a rather large city. When Zayn enters, more than one head spins around to look at him and assess his clothes, his face, his walk. He’s not unnerved but he’s not necessarily comfortable. He hovers near the door because there’s a sign that says “Please wait to be seated”.

 

Finally, after a couple minutes, when most of the staring has died down, someone comes rushing up. He’s blonde, starkly unnaturally blonde, but he has the brightest smile Zayn’s ever seen.

 

“Hey! How many in your party?” Zayn holds up one finger and the guy smiles. “Okay, would you like to sit at the counter? You’ll have a great view of the bands that play tonight.”

 

“Sure, no problem.” Zayn says, forgetting that he hadn’t wanted to draw attention to his accent. Luckily this guy, Niall his name tag reads with a little star next to it, doesn’t seem to care. He grabs a menu from the little hostess podium and gestures for Zayn to follow him. As they wind through the pretty packed restaurant Niall checks on people as they pass, patting people on the shoulders and picking up spent dishes and smiling at seemingly everyone. He’s either a very very happy guy or this really is a small-town sort of place and he knows them all. Seems more like the second one.

 

“Alright, so here you go.” Niall hands him the menu when they get to an open seat at the bar, and he pulls out a little notepad. “Can I get you anything to drink to start?”

 

“Uh, just water, please.”

 

“You sure?” Niall asks, not pressing but checking. Zayn looks down at the menu, flipping it over to see the drinks menu. He doesn’t want anything alcoholic since he’s driving but maybe a cup of tea would be nice. They have sweet tea but no other options so Zayn shakes his head.

 

“Water’s fine.”

 

“Alright, I’ll be right back with that for you.”

 

Zayn looks over the menu, deciding on a mushroom and spinach risotto. For a small place it had a pretty elaborate menu. He was glad because after days and days of junk food and snacking, he was starving for a real meal.

 

“Hey,” Zayn feels a hand on his back, gentle, not predatory, and it slides off quickly like a friend’s. Niall drops a water glass on the table in front of him, grabbing his little notepad again. “So did you look over the menu? See anything you’d like?”

 

“Yeah, could I get the mushroom and spinach risotto?”

 

“Sure, absolutely. That comes with two sides, which – “ Niall leans over and flips over the menu for him, pointing to a small section above the drinks. “Are right there. You look those over and I’ll be back in just a second.” He walks away to a table waving him down, and grabs their dishes disappearing to the back.

 

He’s back in literal seconds, and Zayn asks if he could just get two servings of bread.

 

“Needing the carbs for something?” Niall asks, seeming to realize that could be offensive and grimacing. “Sorry! I just meant like – are you an athlete or something? Or, you know what, you ignore me – “

 

“I’m a singer.” Zayn says, smiling hopefully comfortingly. “I just haven’t eaten anything real in a couple days, I’m driving cross the country.”

 

“Oh, wow, that’s amazing, mate. You should sing at our live night!” Niall jumps on the spot like the excitement is too much for him to contain.

 

“Oh, no no, I – “

 

“I could play guitar for you if you want! I was going to perform anyway once I get off in an hour, what’s your name?” Niall slides onto the stool next to him, elbows on the counter. He’s so open and bright, and Zayn sighs inwardly. There’s no way out, again.

 

“Zayn.” He introduces himself, picking at the skin on his thumb.

 

“I’m Niall, obviously.” Niall says, waving towards his name tag. He continues, gushing. “My Mom and Dad actually own this place, and Da keeps saying ya know, _you’ll be able to run it one day, Nialler_. But I kind of just want to play guitar. It must be so cool to be a singer.”

 

“Yeah, yeah it was.” Zayn says.

 

“Oh are you…not anymore?”

 

“No, I – I’m on break. Just takin’ some time before I go back.”

 

“Ahh, that’s why you’re here then, in America.” Zayn nods. “Well, you should still sing with me. This is a small friendly place, no pressure to be great, no critics.”

 

“That might be nice.” Zayn admits, something small and hopeful in his chest blossoming back to life. Once upon a time he’d genuinely loved music, loved singing, loved writing lyrics – that had all been crushed by Craig and ambition. He hasn’t sung anything since the last tour, since Craig, though. He doesn’t even sing in the car anymore, the sound of his own voice bringing him back to times and memories that make him sick. “What do you play?”

 

“Country and rock, mostly. My Dad’s Irish so I’m pretty up on Irish metal, and punk rock, but uh I like my music a little softer. I play acoustic guitar.” Niall slaps his hand down on the counter suddenly, startling Zayn. “Shit, let me get your order to the kitchen so you can eat! You gotta be starving man, I’ll be right back.”

 

Before Zayn can say no worries, Niall’s off, blonde head bobbing amongst the crowd.

 

* * *

 

 

_“What the bloody hell do you mean you’re going away for two months? Zayn?” Doniya’s voice screeches through the phone, where Zayn holds it slightly away from his ear. He sighs, Craig’s silhouette outside smoking a cigarette pushing him forward._

_“Craig’s booked me some gigs, if these go well, I might get signed Doniya. He’s trying to help me.”_

_“He’s trying to fuck you!” Doniya cusses, which she never does. It startles Zayn so badly he nearly drops his phone._

_“No he’s not – “_

_“You told me about the shower, Zayn. He made you get a tattoo – “_

_“No he didn’t!” Zayn argues, pulling at his hair anxiously._

_“He’s got you smoking! You’re gone all night, you’re never home, you spend all your time locked up with him, trusting that he’s on your side – “_

_“He is!” Zayn snaps. “He’s my friend and my agent, and he’s trying to give me my dream.”_

_“Zayn, I do not trust him.” Doniya snaps back. “And to be quite honest with you habibi, I don’t like who you are around him. You’re mean, you lie to me left and right!”_

_“I’m trying to follow my dream!” Zayn nearly shouts, the frustration finally hitting it’s peak. Months and months of Doniya’s pushing and prodding, and nitpicking. Of trying to explain to her why he’s doing all this, why Craig is here. Of constantly fighting to do what he wants, like he’s still 12. “I don’t know why you can’t support me, Craig said – “_

_“Craig said this, Craig said that! You are wrapped up in that man, just how he wants you – “_

_Zayn hangs up, thumb pressing the button almost numbly. He stares down at the contact screen, and the tiny icon of Doniya’s smiling face. They never fight, they might bicker but they’ve never fought like that. Zayn holds his thumb over the screen button til the power off slider shows up, and turns off his phone._

_“Hey babe.” Craig says gently, coming into the room with a stubbed out cigarette he throws into the trash can. He sits down next to Zayn on the bed, hand resting on top of Zayn’s upper thigh, shoulders bumping together. “I heard some of that, I’m sorry.”_

_“She just doesn’t understand.” Zayn confides, Craig leaning into him in an attempt to soothe him probably. Craig smells like cigarettes, and heavy cologne, but he’s been the most solid foundation of Zayn’s life recently. They’re together every single day, they’re accomplishing Zayn’s dream together. “She thinks you’re just trying to have sex with me. Or I don’t even know, con me somehow?”_

_“Well she’s right on one part.” Craig smiles against Zayn’s temple, shifting so lips touch his ear. “I definitely want to fuck you.”_

_“Craig.” Zayn says firmly, pushing Craig away a tiny bit but only halfheartedly. He’s never been attracted to Craig, especially with their pretty large age gap and Zayn’s impending realization that he might not be entirely ‘normal’ on the sex front. He likes men, he thinks, but he’s never had sex with anyone, he’s never even watched porn before unless by accident. It’s just…never seemed very important to him, never felt right. “Please stop.”_

_“Zaynie, baby, aren’t you tired?” Craig asks, resting his forehead on Zayn’s shoulder. “Isn’t that what’s going on? You’re tired of Doniya treating you like a child, like you need to be coddled?”_

_“She treats me like I’m still just her baby brother, not an adult.” Zayn mutters, thinking of how Doniya had spoken to him, like he was an idiot. Like he couldn’t be trusted with his own decisions._

_“Aren’t you tired of constantly fighting? Of trying so hard to prove yourself?”_

_“Yeah,” Zayn whispers. “But – “_

_“I want to carry that for you. I want to be that support you need, not another hassle like your sister.” Craig moves so his leg is under Zayn’s. The position is subtle, but it moves Zayn into his lap just a little bit more. “Let me take care of you, baby. I know you’re an adult, I know you can take care of yourself – you can relax with me.”_

_“Craig, No – “_

_“Zayn,” Craig says, his tone sharper than before but still soft, still smooth. “You know I only want what’s best for you right? I only want to give you your dream. I’m your friend.”_

_“I know.” Zayn says, leaving it at that. He does know, he believes Craig. He knows Craig doesn’t want to hurt him, even if sometimes he’s pushy, or mean, or hypercritical. “Just…” Zayn stands up, forced to sort of roll off Craig’s lap. “I want to be alone.”_

 

_Craig doesn’t seem happy about it, but he lets Zayn leave for his own room._

 

* * *

 

“Oh! My! God! You’re like super fucking talented, man, like I can’t believe!” Niall shouts, hands thrown in the air, nearly vibrating as he bounces off the ground. Zayn walks slightly behind him, grinning ear to ear, just as excited but a little less loudly. The set had been pretty amazing, the diner’s crowd warming up to Zayn immensely when he got on stage with Niall.

 

“You were amazing, Niall.” Zayn smiles, a wash of good feeling running through him. He felt _good_ , for the first time in months. Good! He hadn’t imagined he’d really feel that again.

 

“No no I was just me, but _you_? Your voice!” Niall gasps and sighs with each word, his body and voice playing out the elation he’s feeling. His hair glows in the moonlight, as they walk to Zayn’s car. “You and I should start a band.”

 

“I gotta go home, one day.” Zayn jokes, grinning still but realizing that’s the first time he’s actually said he’ll go home. From the moment he set out, it had always been hovering there in the background. An assumed eventuality, that he’d never confirmed even to himself.

 

“Well, I’ll come with. Get myself a hot accent too, and we’ll take over the world.”

 

Niall leans against Zayn’s car even though it has to be cold, and Zayn gets up close for warmth, and maybe just to be closer to that radiant smile. Something about Niall is so very similar to Harry. Something about how he makes Zayn feel alive again, feelings swerving through him like he’d never felt or hadn’t felt in forever. “I think your town would miss you.”

 

“This town needs me, huh.” Niall says jokingly. Suddenly his face goes serious. “What’s your last name?”

 

“Malik.” Zayn answers immediately, unsure why Niall’s asking. “Yours?”

 

“Horan.” Niall squints at him questioningly. “You ever done time?”

 

“Um, no.”

 

“Drugs?”

 

“A little weed, but…no.” Zayn shrugs. Craig had given it to him at a gig once, and it had made him depressed. _‘Good artists have a dark edge, Zaynie.’_

 

“Hired a prostitute?”

 

“What?!”

 

“Alright, alright. I think you’re clean enough, you wanna come over? I have coffee and an Xbox.” Niall shrugs, like it’s no big deal.

 

“You Americans are oddly trusting.” Zayn says, startled.

 

“Anyone can be a killer; you won’t make any friends if you don’t try trusting people.” Niall shrugs again, like murder isn’t shocking or scary or even a factor.

 

“Okay.” Zayn says, smiling gently still. “You have any tea?”

 

“No, but I know where we can get some.”

 

\--

 

“Who the hell do you think you are showing up at my door like this, Horan?” Louis snaps when he opens his porch door to find Niall and Zayn standing at the bottom of the steps. He’s dressed for lounging in a loose pair of pink socks and a big t-shirt, and in his hand is a mug with steam rising off of it.

 

“You got any tea, loser?” Niall asks, voice playfully mean, and then he points at Zayn with his thumb. “My new British friend needs it to live.”

 

“Why are you hanging out with this guy?” Louis asks, a sneer across his face as he looks down at Zayn. Then his face straightens out to a normal expression and he smiles just a little, “You guys are lucky, I just finished making myself some and I’m feeling generous.”

 

He steps back and Niall leads Zayn into the house, kicking off his shoes just inside the door. Zayn follows suit though his boots take a little longer to get off. “What’s your poison, also what’s your name?” Louis asks, leading them into a tiny kitchen and looking back at Zayn over his shoulder. His eyes are starkly blue in the kitchen’s bright fluorescent lighting, and he looks at Zayn openly, with just a tinge of suspicion.

 

“Earl grey?”

 

“Hmm, let’s see.” Louis opens a cabinet and there’s boxes and boxes of tea bags. It’s a rather good collection with all varieties of flavors, but Zayn’s really always preferred loose tea leaves. He supposes, when in America. “Here we go.” He plucks a box from towards the back.

 

“You can probably have this when you leave, I’ve never even opened it. I like green tea better.” Louis muses, ripping open the box. “You want one, Niall?”

 

“Nah, thanks I’m a coffee man.”

 

“Suit yourself.” Louis grabs a mug from another cabinet, fills it with tap water and plops it into the microwave. It whirs around, the seconds ticking down. “So what’s your name, man? I’m Louis.”

 

“Zayn.” He awkwardly stands by the entryway to the kitchen, unsure where to place himself. Niall’s hopped up on Louis’ counter like it’s his home, and Louis leans against his thigh casually. He doesn’t reach for Zayn’s hand to shake, he doesn’t even look at him, busy watching the microwave.

 

“Nice to meet’cha.” Louis says absently, jumping forward to stop the microwave before it can hit 0. He drops the tea bag in, and presses it against the sides with a spoon to squeeze out the flavor. “You want sugar?”

 

“No thank you.” Zayn takes the mug, unsure of how satisfying this will be but willing to try for Niall’s sake.

 

“Good, I don’t think I have any.” They lapse into silence that apparently only seems to make Zayn uncomfortable as Niall and Louis lean against each other companionably.

 

“So, Zayn here, is driving cross the country.” Niall says eventually, head resting on Louis’.

 

“Yeah,” Zayn contributes eloquently.

 

“That’s awesome, why? You headed to something?” Louis asks. Zayn shrugs.

 

“Felt like it mostly.” Louis nods like that’s a totally reasonable explanation for a British man to be doing a cross-American road trip.

 

“And he’s an incredible singer, apparently a real one with a real album.” Niall continues, gushing like he really wants Louis to like Zayn. “You should have come to live night, we played together.”

 

“Really?” Louis laughs. “I can’t believe Niall corralled you into live night, man. He’s been trying to get me up there with him for years, whining and whining since we were too small to hold a guitar.”

 

“How long have you two been friends?”

 

“Since the womb basically?” Louis looks to Niall, who nods. “Yeah, our Mom’s were friends. They got pregnant around the same time, so me and Niall are basically twins.”

 

“I don’t think that’s how it works – “ Niall says, smiling.

 

“No it is.” Louis says firmly, and then gestures towards the living room. “FIFA?”

 

* * *

 

_The first time Craig goes too far, not just too far for Zayn’s comfort or too far for their manager-artist relationship but too far in the eyes of the law, is when Zayn’s hooked a meeting with a record label and Doniya’s ignored his calls. He’s not in the mood, he’s still disgusted with himself for ever letting Craig touch him, for being so weak and needing the comfort._

_He wants to smoke, shower, and sleep, probably in that order._

_That’s not what he gets._

_“Hey, Zaynie. Could you come in here for a minute?” Craig calls from his hotel room, which is attached to Zayn’s and the door between is thrown open. Though Zayn wishes it could be closed, Craig snaps at him whenever he tries._

_“What is it?” Zayn asks, leaning against the doorjamb with his hoodie unzipped and his joggers riding low. He desperately wants to sleep, and wake up tomorrow to his sister’s support and a record deal. Between his lips he holds a cigarette he’s getting ready to smoke out on the balcony._

_Craig doesn’t look up from where he’s sat at the hotel desk, staring down at paperwork, laptop open and phone lit up. “I received a phone call from a police officer today.”_

_“What?” Zayn gasps, cigarette nearly falling to the floor._

_“Yeah, seems your sister thinks I’m a con artist who is holding you as a hostage.”_

_“Oh my god,” Zayn sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s – I – She’s just mad at me.”_

_“Yes, but now she’s fucking with my business, with our business.” Craig scolds him, looking at him accusingly over the shoulder like he’s a child caught with his pants down._

_“I’m sorry.” Zayn apologizes, feeling two inches tall under Craig’s short voice and expression. “I’ll talk to her, I’ll fix it.”_

_Craig’s quiet for a moment, and then he pulls away from the desk, spinning slightly till he’s almost facing Zayn but not quite. He doesn’t look Zayn in the eyes, staring determinedly past him to the wall instead, but he speaks to him. “Come here.”_

_Zayn creeps into the room cautiously, freezing when Craig pats his knee. “I’m not sitting in your lap.”_

_“Yes you are, Zayn.” Craig says, calm, confident, like a business man giving out the news that he’s just sold the company and everyone’s being laid off while he goes to Vegas. “Sit down.”_

_“No.” Zayn retorts firmly, but his resolve isn’t as strong as his tone manages. It’s just him and Craig here, what’s the worst that could happen?_

_“You either come here, and sit down, like a good boy,” Craig warns him, finally looking him in the eye. “Or I’ll call Waters right now and tell him there’s no meeting tomorrow, Zayn Malik’s gone home.”_

_Zayn’s blood runs cold._

_“Are you threatening me?” He snaps, the words coming out a whisper. Craig doesn’t respond, but after a second he firmly pats his knee again. “No!”_

_Craig’s up and on him before Zayn registers what’s happening. His back hits the wall, head whipping to smack into the plaster and ache. “What the f-“_

_“You listen to me!” Craig spits, actual saliva landing on Zayn’s cheeks. “I gave you all of this, I gave you the gigs, I gave you the studio time, I’m hand feeding you a huge record deal.”_

_“Get the fuck off me.” Zayn struggles, trying to get away but Craig’s hands on his shoulders are too strong, and from the waist down he’s pinned by Craig’s larger body. For the first time, he’s afraid. Doniya’s wary voice plays through his mind. “Craig – “_

_Craig’s mouth is brutal when it hits Zayn’s, his tongue forcing itself way in, hand just under Zayn’s throat stopping him from biting down. He’s confused, and scared, and all he can think of is the meeting. The record. His dream._

_His manager pulls away after a moment, Zayn’s mouth tingling harshly where Craig’s rubbed it raw. Craig presses his forehead against Zayn’s tense shoulder, hand falling from where it had been holding him roughly against the wall to his waist, squeezing the little flesh there. “I’m sorry, baby.”_

_Zayn knows, he knows not to believe him. He’s seen the informercials, he’s read about all the warning signs, Doniya’s already told him. But he’s stuck, in this hotel room with a man who wants him on his knee like a bitch, with a manager who owns him and his songs, with a meeting tomorrow that could change his life._

_“It’s okay.” Zayn whispers, voice shaking. “It’s alright.”_

_“No, no it’s not.” Craig’s voice is raspy, and there’s wetness on Zayn’s hoodie from where the man must have started to cry. His hand slips inside Zayn’s open hoodie to press against bare skin, against the warm bare flesh of Zayn’s back._

_No, it’s not._

 

* * *

 

“You’re leaving, aren’t you.” Niall asks, hands stuffed into his pockets and shoulders up and tense, as they walk outside Louis’ house to Zayn’s car. His expression is resigned, not upset but a little sad, a little nostalgic as if their moment had already ended and passed and was being missed.

 

“I have to.”

 

“You don’t!” Niall exclaims, like an offering. “This is a pretty nice town, close to a big city, got really good people – “

 

“I’ve got a sister.” Zayn cuts him off, hand pressed to the cold metal of his car. “The sooner I finish this road trip, the sooner I…” _Get out of my head._ “Then the sooner I get home to her.”

 

“Well she’s lucky,” Niall shrugs. “I’ll miss you.”

 

“Maybe we can text…if you want?”

 

“’Course man, I already put my number in your phone.” They both laugh, Zayn feeling more heaviness seep from his shoulders. Niall smiles at him warmly, like the oldest of mates, and reaches out to clap him on the shoulder and draw him into a hug.

 

Zayn startles for just a second before letting himself melt into. No one has touched him like this since Craig, no one’s breath on his skin, no one’s arms around his neck, no one’s warm body pressed to his. It doesn’t feel intimate like the little touches with Harry had felt, it doesn’t feel familial like the distant hugs from Doniya do, and it doesn’t feel predatory like all of Craig’s touches had.

 

It just feels warm, and gentle. Niall’s thumb rubs gently on the side of Zayn’s neck a couple of times, and then he pulls away. He doesn’t say anything else before he’s jogging backwards to Louis’ house, the porch door shutting behind him quietly.

 

Zayn drives back to his hotel and checks out, feeling like another piece of him has healed somehow. Like another piece of him Craig had corrupted is soothed just a little bit by affection, by friends, by being somewhere Craig hasn’t touched. This little town outside Topeka, this little American state with it’s corn and its diners – they don’t seep with fame and poison like England had felt after Craig, after tour.

 

Zayn merges onto the highway feeling like maybe going home won’t seem so impossible one day, like maybe it’s already starting to be a real possibility.

 

* * *

 

_It’s freezing in Bradford when Zayn shows up at Doniya’s flat, his flat, and knocks on the door. It’s been almost eight months since they’ve spoken, it’s been almost nine since he’s seen her last. She doesn’t answer, and Zayn’s not sure if that’s because she’s not there or because she hates him so much._

_He knows he looks like a mess though, so he sits down by the door and waits. Snows falling in slow heavy drifts, some of it being kicked up into the open air hallway by strong gusts. Zayn buries his hands in his pockets and his chin into his jacket and tries to stop feeling like he deserves to freeze here._

_Something about the cold feels cleansing, something feels right about the numbness in his toes. The physical finally matching the emotional._

_Hours later, or maybe only minutes he can’t be sure, there’s the slap of boots against concrete and then Doniya’s crouching down in front of him, eyes sad and hair shorter than he’s ever seen it._

_“Habibi…” She whispers, and then shakes her head. “Come inside.”_

_Zayn doesn’t say anything, just lets her usher him inside and give him hot tea._

_“What are you doing here, Zayn?” She asks once the feeling in his fingers has come back, voice tight, expression resigned. She looks older, tired but he assumes he looks worse. He feels wrung out and hung up to dry. “Aren’t you supposed to be on tour?”_

_Zayn flinches, and tries to hide the involuntary reaction by drinking his tea. Doniya’s eyebrows furrow but she doesn’t point it out thankfully._

_“I am.” Zayn finally confirms, clearing his throat. “I, uh, left.”_

_“Why?”_

_Zayn doesn’t answer, he can’t. He can’t seem to form the words in his mind, much less form them with his tongue, push them out into the world. If he says it, then it’s real. If he admits what happened, he’s a failure, he’s a victim, he’s weak. If he admits what happened, Doniya will have been right._

_It’s not like he thinks she’ll point at him and say ‘told you so!’ but the quiet, elephant in the room might be worse._

_“Zaynie, you can talk to me.”_

_“I’m sorry.” He gasps, face crumbling just as regret washes through him like a flash flood. The numbness isn’t there anymore, now it’s a mass of emotion. He feels like he’s choking on shame, the poison seeping up his throat and in between all his teeth, out his nose, bleeding out his eyes._

_He’s crying when Doniya wraps him up in her arms and squeezes him tight. His tears bleed onto her bare neck instead of long hair, and the guilt swells at the reminder of how long it’s been. He’d swear she smells differently now. Maybe he does too, a little more like cigarettes and sex, a little less like youth._

 

* * *

 

 

Doniya texts him the next day to say she seen him on youtube, a viral video of him singing with some cute blond in Kansas. She doesn’t send him a link; he doesn’t look for one.

 

She says he sounded good.

 

He heads for Nebraska.


	3. liam pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zayn reaches the west coast and meets liam. they fall in love over a deadpool book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for your comments!!!! i'm literally so grateful and happy with the response which is why i'm not waiting to post this chapter! in this one there is explicit sexual content!
> 
> don't forget to comment/kudo/rec! and you can find me at [aubadezayn](http://aubadezayn.tumblr.com) on tumblr!

Zayn makes it to Portland in about six days, taking the last two slower with more naps in the back of the car. He also takes some time to stop and write some lyrics bouncing around his head, photograph sights for Doniya and eat meals that don’t come in paper bags through a window into his car. He facetimes with Doniya at the Hells Canyon dam and she tells him the view is gorgeous.

 

She also tells him that his cheeks have filled out, that he looks healthier. (He thinks she means happier too.)

 

She also tells him that Craig’s been accused of embezzlement and sexual harassment by the girls from his other project band Fifth Harmony. Zayn doesn’t know how to feel about that exactly, but he’s proud of the girls at least. He’s proud someone stood up, someone got justice.

 

When he checks his other texts he finds that Harry has sent him the finished little girl’s room he’d designed, and it’s predominantly black with a lot of green and yellows. There’s also a selfie with the little girl and her father, both beaming ear to ear next to Harry in a ridiculously wide brimmed hat.

 

Niall’s texted him that the diner misses him.

 

Louis, who apparently got his number somehow, texts him a photo of a box of Earl Grey tea and his middle finger which Zayn takes to mean that he doesn’t appreciate the flavor. Or maybe that Zayn forgot to take it with him when he left.

 

It’s strange to have so many people texting him, filling him in on their days. It’s strange that the man who travelled all around Europe, played sold-out shows, and has had millions of people hear his voice, feels so lonely a couple of texts is odd.

 

He sleeps in the mountains just outside the Hells Canyon dam.

 

\--

  

Portland’s a pretty nice city when he rolls into it early in the morning. It’s got a lot of homeless people, and the streets are narrow and rickety, but it’s bustling with life already and each building and store he passes has something Harry would probably call “character”. Zayn ends up at a hotel, dropping his stuff off before heading out for a cup of coffee and an infamous Voodoo donut.

 

He tries not to feel like a tourist waiting in the line at the store, but the first bite, and Doniya’s laughing emoji’s at the blunt donut photo he sends her, is worth it. He walks around with a cup of coffee, stretching his legs which have been cramped into his car for far too long. A whole continent in less than three weeks, it’s exhausting just to think about much less do.

 

After an hour of window shopping, and sitting in the park watching people pass by, Zayn decides he might stay here awhile before he moves on, or goes home. The air is chilly but not freezing, he could probably take off his jacket if he wanted. The sky is pleasantly blue, there’s two older hippies playing guitar near him and kids running around a big statue of an elephant.

 

Harry excitedly texts him that he loves Portland, when Zayn tells him where he is, and describes in depth a post-modern, Spanish-style living room he’d decorated here.

 

Zayn asks for pictures because Harry’s enthusiasm is intoxicating.

 

Powell’s Books is on every tourist site Zayn will never admit to scrolling through so he goes inside later in the afternoon after going back to the hotel for a short nap. It’s brimming with people, reading, sitting, talking, shopping, eating, drinking coffee. It almost reminds Zayn of being back stage at a show. Each floor is like that, and after a minute of adjustment it starts to feel warm rather than overwhelming.

 

He stays in the Islamic section for awhile, running his fingers over each of the books and thinking of his parents, of his home, of Doniya.

 

* * *

 

_“Habibi…?” Doniya asks into the darkness of her room, Zayn’s head cradled on her chest where they lay on her bed. His tears had stopped hours ago, but his heart aches like it’s still going. He doesn’t think he can handle the conversation he knows she wants to have, but he hums in acknowledgement anyway._

_He can’t put it off forever, no matter how he wants to._

_“What did he do to you?”_

_Her fingers drift over Zayn’s face, against the broken, swollen skin of his lower lip, against the aching tenderness of his cheek and left eye. That damage feels like nothing compared to what she can’t touch, what neither of them can see._

_“He…hit me.”_

_“Is that all he did, Zaynie?” Doniya’s fingers run through his hair, gently like their Mum used to do when they were children, crying about bruised knees and rejected Valentine’s cards. He listens to her heart for a minute, staring into the dark blindly. He can’t say it. “We can wait.” She says, and Zayn feels suddenly like if he doesn’t say it now, he might never._

_He might choke on these words for the rest of his life, an old regretful man still cradling bruised knuckles._

_“He raped me.” Zayn whispers against his sister’s chest, heart splitting in two. “He punched me, and he touched me, and…he said, he said if I didn’t let him, he’d ruin my career. He’d pull the tour.” He doesn’t even know if Doniya can understand half of what he says, the quiet words garbled by choked sobs and the violent shaking he can’t control. Somehow the darkness seems to blur, his eyes squeezing shut tightly even though it’s painful. In movies, it’s always cathartic for the victim to say what happened to them, but Zayn feels like he’s been ripped open in front of a crowd._

_Doniya doesn’t say anything but both her arms come around him, her body shaking with his like he’s not alone. Like maybe she’s been ripped open too._

_“He – he…I should have stopped him; I should have – “_

_“Shh.” Doniya hushes him, kissing his forehead. “You did nothing wrong, do you hear me, Zayn? Habibi, you are not to blame for that disgusting man’s actions.”_

_Zayn sobs, his breath hitching on each inhale even as he tries desperately to stop. He can feel Craig all over him, hands, and body fluids, and lips. “Are you listening to me, Zayn?” Doniya shakes him firmly, just a little, then kisses his forehead again several times, lipstick probably in his hairline._

_“You are not at fault, you are so strong, baby. You are so strong, and I love you so much. I’m so sorry, habibi, I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Doniya’s words bleed together, whether she’s babbling comfort in her own upset way or if Zayn’s too tired to sort out each separate word. He closes his eyes, and wills it all away. Wills Allah, if he would allow it, to wash it all away, purge him of the memories and the regret and the last two years._

_“I need to shower.” Zayn says finally after an amount of time he’d never be able to place. He’s stopped crying though he feels no less exposed or shamed, and Doniya’s stopped talking._

_“Okay, okay.” Doniya says._

_“Um…” She hesitates, and then speaks again. “Should we…report this, take you to the hospital for an exam before you shower?”_

_“I’m not pressing charges.” Zayn answers firmly, standing up from the bed and pretending like his legs are his own still. In just the little bit of light in the room, mostly from the moon outside and Doniya’s bedside clock, he can see the outline of her shocked mouth._

_“What do you mean? Zayn, you **have** to.”_

_“No I don’t.” Zayn shrugs, even though casual or nonchalant is the last thing he’s feeling. “I don’t have to, and I don’t want to. I want to never see him again, never hear his voice, never…I want to never remember he existed, and months and months of trying to prove he did what he did will guarantee I see him.” Zayn shakes his head._

_“I don’t care; I want it to be over.”_

_“Zaynie…”_

_“Please, Doniya, just…listen to me, okay?” Zayn begs, wavering on his feet. He’s absolutely exhausted._

_“Okay.” She says after a minute, and then sighs. “You’ll have to use my shampoo and stuff, but I think you should still have some clothes here. I’ll go get you some while you shower.”_

_“Thank you.”_

 

* * *

 

Zayn’s moved up to the comic book section, and is flipping through a recent Captain America he’s never read when someone accidentally knocks into him and drops a big heavy book on his foot. Thankfully, his shoes are stiff tough boots so it barely hurts but he still jumps nearly out of his skin. “Oh my god, I’m sorry.”

 

He looks up from the book, Marvel’s Deadpool Ultimate Collection Extended Edition, to the person who’s apologizing profusely and had knocked into him. It’s a man, or maybe a boy, Zayn’s not sure how to classify him. There’s something very young in him, in the crinkles of his eyes and the wave of his hands, but he’s obviously not too young with how perfectly styled his hair is and the peep of chest hair coming out the top of his shirt. He’s got an armful of books still, and a backpack on.

 

“It’s alright.” Zayn says, bending down to pick up the book. “Deadpool, eh?”

 

“Yeah, it’s…I was just looking at it. It’s like 100$ I could never afford it, but it’s gorgeous.” The lad gushes, leaning towards Zayn to peel open the cover and point at some of the panels. “It’s got all this extra stuff too, like unseen stuff. You into Marvel?”

 

“Marvel, DC, I like comics.” Zayn says, smiling. “I’m Zayn.”

 

He blushes, just a little at the tops of his cheeks and chest, and looks down at the book again before saying, “I’m Liam. I’m really sorry about bumping into you. You probably have places to do, things to be, I mean – “

 

“Not really, actually.” Zayn shrugs. “Actually, now that I think about it…” He turns the book over in his hands, admiring the art also on the back. “I might buy this.”

 

“Oh!” Liam says. “Well, uh, that’s cool, glad I could point it out, man.”

 

“Yeah…you wanna geek out over it with me over lunch?” Zayn smirks, winking cheekily when Liam looks at him surprised. Liam smiles back, eyes crinkling again at the corners.

 

“Sure, there’s a pizza place I like around the corner.”

 

“Perfect.”

 

\--

 

“So you’re from England then?” Liam asks before taking a bite of his pizza. The place he likes is a hole in the wall with great graffiti art on the walls and Zayn’s enjoying the food, but he’s enjoying the company more. Liam’s enthusiastic, and nice, and he’s already learned more about Zayn than possibly anyone ever has this early in meeting him but it doesn’t feel intrusive. It just feels really nice, and he can’t stop smiling.

 

Zayn nods, taking a bite of pizza, chewing and then asking, “You from here?”

 

“Born and bred. Portland’s always been my home, but my Mom’s actually from England.” Zayn makes a surprised questioning sound, and Liam half shrugs half nods. “Yeah, she was born there, lived there till she was about 12 and then her Dad got a job in Seattle. She met my Dad and they moved down here, and had me.”

 

“That’s pretty cool. You like growing up in a city?”

 

“Yeah, it’s nice, you always got things going on, and you make friends with everyone. From the ticket seller at the bus station, the cashier at Powell’s, the cooks at this place, I know so many people.” Liam wipes his mouth like a good polite boy, and then nods at Zayn. “What about you? City boy or country?”

 

“City. I’m from Bradford, though you probably don’t know where that is, do ya?” Liam shakes his head sheepishly, smiling. “Thought so. It’s a little city, pretty urban, pretty busy, but it’s home.”

 

“That’s how I feel about Portland. I couldn’t imagine leaving, unless of course, it was for something big. You must have left Bradford for something big.” The book Zayn had bought sits next to them in it’s own chair, still in the bag the cashier had put it in. Zayn doesn’t feel like they even need it, he could sit here talking to Liam all day. He gets the inexplicable urge to confess, to tell Liam exactly why he left Bradford, why he left England, but he holds back. Strangers, friends, no one wants to hear that shit over their pizza.

 

“Yeah, something pretty big.” Zayn shrugs, and then looks at Liam intently. “Glad I did though or I would have never met _you_.”

 

“Shut up.” Liam retorts nearly immediately, turning a lovely shade of pink. “I’m just…honestly I’m surprised you didn’t deck me when I dropped this book on you, you look kind of…“

 

“Scary?” Zayn offers, sighing.

 

“No!” Liam rubs at the back of his neck with one hand, the other plucking an onion off his pizza. “Just out of my league. Cool. This is a big city, but mostly I’m still just Liam. I couldn’t even get anyone to come to my sixteenth birthday party, much less get a hot guy to come out to lunch with me.”

 

“Technically I asked you, so you _still_ haven’t gotten a hot guy to go to lunch with you.”

 

“Alright, shut up.” Liam pouts, smiling after a moment as Zayn smiles at him. He feels giddy, weird, butterflies in his stomach and brain. Liam’s not the most beautiful he’s ever seen, he’s not the most interesting he’s ever spoke to, but Zayn’s heart is making a pretty good argument for both. He kind of wishes they could jump past this step, not necessarily to more intense stuff (stuff that still makes Zayn tense up) but to where Zayn could maybe hold Liam’s hand.

 

* * *

 

_The bruises fade, Zayn’s lip heals. He scrubs himself twice daily, methodically washing away everything that Craig left behind on him. Doniya and he go shopping for clothes, and he gives up on getting his stuff back. He doesn’t want any of it, Craig can keep it all. He buys shampoo, and toothpaste, and a new electric razor, and he feels like he’s settling back home well._

_He doesn’t talk about it, he doesn’t think about it, and when he has nightmares about it he stays up reading comics, or listening to music, and pretends like the nightmare was just hypothetical._

_Craig doesn’t call him because Zayn threw his phone in the garbage. He doesn’t show up to the flat, as far as Zayn knows since he rarely stays there unless Doniya is there too, and spends a lot of the time at the library reading in a corner with his back to the wall._

_He’s doing well he thinks, at keeping it together. His career, gone. His body, violated. His mind, regretful. But is he cracking up? Crying all the time? No._

_When Doniya tells him that maybe he should get a part-time job again, just a small one to keep him busy since he doesn’t much like being home alone anyway, he takes her up on it because it seems like a good idea. Mostly because it seems like something someone who is coping well would choose. He wants to be coping._

_But he’s not eating. He’s not and he knows it and he can’t stop. Food just seems unappetizing, the idea of chewing and swallowing and chewing and swallowing is so tedious and heavy he can’t seem to move a fork to his mouth. He tries, a couple of times, but it just doesn’t stay down either._

_He’ll be eating crisps on break at work, and then he’ll remember Craig’s hot breath on his collarbone and be hunched over the sink, or toilet, or bin vomiting. It’s not worth eating only to watch it slip out of him._

_He’ll be sitting on the couch, a plate of dinner waiting to be eaten when he’ll think about Craig’s hand pressing his lip so hard against his teeth it splits, and his stomach will twist and sour._

_It’s obvious Doniya hasn’t missed the signs, and has noticed Zayn’s losing weight. But they both don’t know what to do. They’re both trying so hard to be those sane, normal people coping with trauma and this is one thing they don’t know how to fix._

 

* * *

 

 

They spend hours together, talking about everything from comics to ice cream flavors to Liam’s small-time career as North Portland’s neighborhood tooth fairy, and inevitably Zayn’s singing career. Liam’s never heard of him before, thankfully, but Zayn surprises himself by playing him Pillowtalk.

 

Liam gives him the most genuine smile when he says he likes it, and Zayn’s heart flips over in his chest.

 

By the time they’ve walked back to Powell’s from around downtown all day, it’s completely dark out. “Do you want me to walk you to your hotel?” Liam asks, shuffling back and forth like he’s embarrassed about something.

 

Zayn shrugs. “If you want to…”

 

“I _really_ want to.” Liam admits, biting his lip in an endearingly innocent way. He’s not doing it to seduce Zayn, like countless people he’d met on tour liked to do. He’s not doing it because he wants to take the words back. He’s just doing it because Liam, beautiful Liam, with the soft eyes and the amazing conversationalist, who dropped a fucking book on Zayn’s foot and somehow stole his heart, is insecure about what Zayn wants. About if Zayn wants him to walk him to the hotel.

 

Zayn’s felt lucky this entire trip. That his car worked out. That he met Harry, that his tattoo has finally healed. That he met Niall, and played for the first time in forever. That he met Louis, who now regularly sends him slightly aggressive photos of completely bland things.

 

But he’s gotten the jackpot with Liam.

 

“Okay, fuck, marry, kill: Ashton Kutcher, Sarah Michelle Gellar and…me.” Liam suggests playfully, walking up on a gradual ledge next to Zayn and then jumping off at the end, as they walk to Zayn’s hotel. He seems completely at ease downtown when it’s beginning to get late, and Zayn loves it.

 

Zayn hums thoughtfully and then holds up one finger. “Marry Sarah Michelle Gellar because she’s Buffy and can kill the demons to protect us, kill Ashton though I gotta say I have nothing against the guy, and well…?” Zayn shrugs playfully, looking at Liam through his lashes feeling all of sudden insecure. “You’re the only one left.”

 

“You could have killed me.” Liam points out, walking closer to Zayn.

 

“Yeah but then I couldn’t have had sex with you.” Zayn smirks. “At least in most cultures.”

 

“Ew, shut up.” Liam wrinkles his nose, looking at Zayn disapprovingly. Zayn laughs out loud, chuckle bouncing off the cool night air. They settle into a comfortable pace, and a gentle silence until Liam breaks it again.

 

“I’ve never had sex.” He says it all in one breath, like that might be a deal breaker for Zayn. It’s actually more of a relief than anything.

 

“I have.” Zayn shrugs. “It wasn’t good.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Liam looks concerned, which makes Zayn’s skin crawl just a little bit with discomfort so he tries to keep talking to move past it.

 

“It wasn’t with the right person.” Zayn says firmly, confident because that, though glossed over, is 100% a fact. Craig had not been the right person for any of the firsts he squeezed out of Zayn. “But, yours should be. I’m not saying, like, that we have to or anything…I wouldn’t, you just met me.”

 

Zayn shuts up instead of trying to keep talking, and lets the silence wrap around them.

 

“I think you’d be a good first.” Liam says softly, like if he talks too loud Zayn might reject him. “I could be…your first as well, your first _right_ person, if you wanted.”

 

He’s stunned for a second, by this gift of a person in front of him, who seems to know every right thing to say. Who seems to know exactly what Zayn wants to hear, but doesn’t say it to use against him. He just says it, because that’s who he is. Because Liam Payne is a genuinely _good_ person.

 

“How old are you?” Zayn asks, reaching out for Liam’s hand. This isn’t the craziest thing he’s ever done, he supposes, but he refuses to hurt Liam. He doesn’t want to be a bad memory, like all of the ones he carries around on his back.

 

“I’m 20.” So he’s a little younger, but not by much. Not by so much that Zayn feels predatory.

 

“I’m 21.” Zayn says. “You sure…about me being the right person? We don’t have to do anything, or we can do whatever you wanna.”

 

“How about we get to your hotel, we get a ton of snacks from a gas station on the way and see where it goes?” Liam offers, attached to Zayn’s side.

 

“That sounds bloody fantastic, babe.”

 

\--

 

“Are you serious? You’ve never had a Slurpee?” Liam asks, completely aghast as they stand in the highly fluorescent back aisle of a 7-11 near Zayn’s hotel. He looks thoroughly disgusted, and Zayn can’t help but laugh. “I’m serious! I can’t believe this, it’s like sacrilege.”

 

“I’m sure we have something similar back home, I just…don’t know what.” Zayn peers at the little circular mirrors where the “Slurpee” can be seen sloshing about. “Why wouldn’t you just drink a Coca-Cola if you wanted the flavor?”

 

“It’s not – ugh, okay, guess what? It’s your lucky night, I’m buying you a Slurpee.” Liam’s determined face is almost cuter than all his other expressions. “And I’m going to mix it proper for you, like Americans do.”

 

“Oh yeah? How do Americans mix their Slurpees?” Zayn asks, chuckling around his serious expression.

 

Liam grabs two large plastic cups, which Zayn knows he won’t be able to finish a full one of, and places them on top of the rack. Then he pulls both levers, blue raspberry pouring into the left, and coca cola into the right. About halfway through he stops the pouring and switches them out, doing it again. Zayn’s baffled.

 

Then he takes one of them and tops it up to the very brim of the dome lid with orange Fanta, and the other with Mountain Dew Code Red, and sticks two big pink straws in them. With a proud smile, like a new Father, Liam shoves the one with Mountain Dew in it at Zayn.

 

“Drink up, babe.”

 

Zayn’s cautious, and very wary, if he’s honest, about putting that straw between his lips but when he does, he’s pleasantly surprised. It’s diabetes in a cup, that’s for certain, and far sweeter than anything he’s ever had. It’s also incredibly icy, which he really should have anticipated. But it’s good, it’s interesting, it’s fun.

 

And the little tint of red the mixed dyes leave on Liam’s lips are worth it by far.

 

Zayn decides to go for it, just as Liam apparently decides they still need crisps, spinning around to head down the aisle and around the corner before Zayn’s realized he’s puckering into the air. He can practically feel Doniya’s laughter if she had seen it.

 

“Alright,” He says, coming to stand next to Liam a second later, who is perusing the crisp section with an intense gaze. “What else do we need?”

 

“Do you like cheddar or sour cream and onion?” Liam asks, in the same tone someone might ask which is the right wire to cut on a bomb.

 

“Cheddar.” Zayn answers immediately, not really thinking about it. Liam nods thoughtfully, hand on his hip that isn’t holding his Slurpee.

 

“Lays or Ruffles.”

 

“I don’t know. You choose.”

 

“Ruffles if we want dip, Lays if we don’t.” Liam says wisely.

 

“Do we want dip?”

 

“I think we do.” Liam nods, smirking at Zayn.

 

“Then Ruffles it is!” Zayn announces, grabbing the bag off the shelf.

 

“Do we need anything else?” Zayn asks as they walk past various other things including beef jerky, boxes of macaroni and cheese, and the coolers filled with drinks.

 

He’s looking at the various types of Gatorade when Liam casually throws out, “Probably condoms and lube. If we want to be prepared.”

 

“I thought you said you were a virgin.” Zayn blurts out before realizing how stupid that sounds, as if virgins somehow missed sex ed classes.

 

“I am, but…” Liam sidles up next to Zayn, sheepish, shy smile playing on his lips. “That doesn’t mean I haven’t touched _myself_ before.”

 

Zayn might be, in the song-lyric, whirlwind movie kind of way, falling in love with this boy.

 

* * *

 

_Zayn stares out into the dark of his room, chest heaving, body paralyzed in fear. The only part of him that can move is his face, and it’s crumpled up in fear, shaking from tears. He can’t breathe, he can’t stop crying, he can’t seem to remember he’s awake. It’s just a nightmare, it’s just a nightmare, it’s just a nightmare._

_The fear doesn’t go away because it wasn’t just a nightmare, it was a memory, it was something he hadn’t wanted to remember but his body had forced on him anyway._

_He tries to take a deep breath, steadfastly counting in his mind to block out thoughts of the nightmare._

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five. One. Two. Three._

_Craig’s breath on his spine._

_Four. Five…_

_Crying._

_One._

_Two._

_Zayn finally moves, but it’s only to roll slightly over and vomit over the side of his bed._

_He hears her coming, but all he can do is rest his face against the cool sheets and stare at the door. “Zayn!”_

_Doniya bursts into his room in her pajamas, her hand going over her mouth in shock. “Oh no. Zaynie.”_

_“I’m sorry…” He apologizes, voice weak. Doniya shakes her head, inching into his room cautiously and flipping on the light. It nearly blinds Zayn but now he can see the mess he’s made. He presses his face down into the mattress, hiding his face._

_“Come on, baby. I’ll clean it up. You can sleep in my bed.” Doniya comes around on the clean side of the bed and drags him out by the arm, Zayn shaking under her arm like a leaf in the wind. She strokes his hair once, twice firmly like a Mum making sure he’s still alive after getting lost at the park._

_She walks him to the bathroom and has him rinse out his mouth several times. Then she takes his t-shirt, and gives him a clean one from the dryer. Zayn’s starting to feel more embarrassed now, and he brushes his teeth of his own volition, not meeting his sister’s eyes._

_“Was it…” Doniya begins, trailing off apprehensively._

_“Yeah.” Zayn nods, not saying anything more but knowing she understands. Since he came home it’s been like Doniya can read his mind._

_“Come on, habibi. Let’s get you back to sleep.” She holds out her hand, and Zayn takes it, her manicured nails pressing into his skin familiarly._

_When he wakes up again hours later, Doniya’s asleep next to him and there’s almost no sign of what happened in his room except for the smell of cleaning products._

 

* * *

 

 

“Why’d you get that?” Liam asks, taking Zayn’s hand in his and tracing over the cursive letters of L O V E across his knuckles.

 

“Because I still believe in it.” Zayn says vaguely, rolling over onto his side so he’s closer to Liam. He smells like a nice warm cologne, and Slurpees and crisps. They’re splayed out on Zayn’s hotel bed, jackets and shoes tossed on the floor. Liam’s tracing and asking about all of his tattoos.

 

“What’s that mean?” Liam asks, kissing it and making Zayn’s heart squeeze like it’s inside someone’s fist.

 

“I told you…about the…not right person.” Zayn stumbles through, leaning in to put his head on Liam’s pillow.  “They…kind of fucked me up.” It’s the first time Zayn’s openly admitted that what happened hurt. He’s vomited and cried and had all types of embarrassing attacks in front of Doniya, but he’s never talked about Craig like this before.

 

“Did you love them?”

 

“No.” Zayn says, confident in that fact. He’d never loved Craig, he’d trusted him but he’s never loved him. “But uh…”

 

“You don’t have to talk about it.” Liam offers, moving to touch tattoos further up Zayn’s arm.

 

“You probably don’t want to hear about it.”

 

“I didn’t say that.” He smiles, and Zayn finds himself doing so too.

 

“I’d rather touch you, if you’re so inclined.” Zayn jokes, finding himself suddenly pressed back down into the mattress with Liam hovering over him. The light in this room makes Liam’s hair, curling out of it’s style at this late hour, and his smile glow warmly. Or maybe that’s just his personality, like honey.

 

“If you insist.” Liam jokes, sitting back with one leg on either side of Zayn’s hips. He’s heavy in a good way, and his hands entwine with Zayn’s instead of pinning them down. Zayn feels safe under him, welcome. “Is this okay?”

 

Liam’s left hand, the one not holding Zayn’s, slips up under his t-shirt stroking at the hair on his treasure trail. “Yeah, it’s good.” Zayn nods shakily, the touch to his stomach so simple but so nerve-wracking. “You want me to take it off?”

 

“Sure, yeah, I’ll take mine off too.” Liam offers, pulling his hands away and grabbing the back of his t-shirt. He pulls it off in one smooth motion, and Zayn wants to drown him in kisses, wants to taste every curve of his abdomen, wants to hold him. Zayn sits up on his elbows and struggles to get his shirt off without dislodging Liam from him lap, which is basically impossible without proper leverage.

 

Liam laughs good naturedly at his struggle and helps him, pulling it off him completely after a minute. Zayn’s breathing hard after it’s off, but he’s not sure it’s entirely from fighting his shirt and not at least partially from the curly dark hair on Liam’s chest.

 

“You’re beautiful.” Zayn whispers, running his hands up Liam’s chest slowly, feeling each groove and piece of skin he can. He flicks Liam’s nipple when he gets there, and the boy in his lap gasps sharply, smiling when Zayn does it again.

 

“You are too.”

 

Liam leans down slowly, cautiously like he’s afraid Zayn might disappear, and kisses him. His mouth is soft and gentle, like you this is their 100th kiss not their first, like they have all the time in the world. He pulls away after a moment, Zayn letting himself be kissed without taking control. Zayn’s never seen a smile that sweet before, and he pulls him back with a hand on Liam’s neck, kissing him hard this time.

 

He kisses him like it’s a promise, kisses him hoping that he can taste on Zayn’s tongue the little bit of happiness he’s brought to his life in just one remarkable day. They don’t kiss like strangers. Liam’s hands in his hair feel natural, feel safe.

 

Liam breathes against Zayn’s mouth when they pull away for air. “Where have you been all my life?”

 

Zayn sits up, gathering Liam into his arms better, getting them around his waist. “You wanna fuck me?” He asks impulsively, stomach twisting in surprise, and apprehension…but not fear. The idea, of being touched there again, used to terrify him. He’d vowed that no one, no one was going to touch him like that again, especially not a man.

 

But it feels like the last hurdle now, it feels like the last leg of a roadtrip where your eyes are blurry and your calf muscle aches from being bent over the accelerator and break. Zayn wants to give it to Liam, wants to take what Craig stole back, here in this safe little hotel room in a safe city with a safe boy his own age.

 

Liam pulls back just enough to look in Zayn’s eyes. “You sure? I’m…the right person?”

 

Zayn considers it seriously, and then nods. “Yeah.” He answers, simple, concise. It feels simple, this feels like it might be the only simple thing in Zayn’s life since he turned 18. Tomorrow, Liam might not be here, or they might wake up from this dream in the morning and realize they're just strangers, but Zayn will have had this. Zayn will have chosen to have sex, will have chosen with who to have it.

 

“Yeah, I want you to.”

 

* * *

 

 

_A fan finds him at work one day, and Zayn hides in the bathroom for an hour after they ask him for an autograph, and ask why he’s not on tour anymore, why he deleted his Twitter. They’re nice, it’s not their fault they don’t know. They loved Pillowtalk._

_Zayn should be grateful, but he just feels sick._

_He leaves work early and goes home to lay in Doniya’s dark bedroom, wishing that he’d never left home when she told him not to._

_Hours later, before Doniya gets home from work, Zayn peels himself out of bed, showers, gets dressed and starts dinner. He’s chopping a bell pepper for the stirfry when she gets in._

_“Zayn?” Doniya drops her keys into the bowl by the microwave, and walks in cautiously. “Are you…cooking?”_

_“Yeah.” Zayn says, gesturing to the pan. “Stirfry.”_

_“That’s…good.” She steps into the kitchen and sidles up next to him. “How are you feeling?”_

_“I’m…don’t treat me like I’m a little kid, Doniya.” Zayn snaps, looking up finally to see her worried, pitying face. “I can cook, and shower, and sleep on my own, I’m fine.”_

_“You’re not, and that’s okay –“_

_“No it’s not!” Zayn snaps, tossing down the knife, nearly taking off his finger. He turns to face her completely, crossing his arms. “I can’t let him take any more, and if I keep breaking down, keep throwing up in the middle of the damn night because I thought of his hands then he’s taken everything.”_

_“Zayn, it’s still fresh.”_

_“It’s not, it’s been months.” Zayn sighs, uncrossing his arms and bracing his palms against the counter. He bends his head to look down at his shoes. “It’s been months and I’m not any better.”_

_“You’ll get there.” Doniya reaches out, pulling him into her arms. He wants to struggle away, to fight, to demand that he can do this on his own. But she’s warm, and his sister, and he knows that he can’t. He knows that if she wasn’t here he’d broken into a million pieces awhile ago. He might not be better, he might not be where he wants to be, but…he came home because of Doniya. There’s one person getting him through this, and it’s his sister. “It just takes time, habibi.”_

_“What if it never gets any better?”_

_“It will.”_

 

* * *

 

“How is it?” Liam asks when he’s got an entire finger inside Zayn, whose propped up on a pillow and gripping him tight by the neck. His voice sounds genuinely curious, and he keeps flitting between Zayn’s face and where he’s touching him. Zayn nods tightly, baring down and knowing he can do this.

 

He can’t quite relax, whether that’s because he rarely touches himself there or because of…it doesn’t matter. He knows he can do it, thousands of men do it every day, or maybe at least every other day.

 

“Move,” Zayn demands. “Just a little!” He exclaims hurriedly when Liam’s finger goes to pull completely out.

 

“Okay, okay, sorry.” Liam’s other hand presses down on Zayn’s abdomen as leverage, the finger inside of him crooking gently and moving just a little up and down. The stretch burns, but it’s getting better and Zayn presses his hips down onto Liam’s hand. “Is it good?”

 

“It’s…strange.” Zayn whispers through gritted teeth. He’s never really had sex like this outside of what Craig did, but he doesn’t remember much of that night, and it certainly hadn’t aimed to bring him any pleasure. This though, Liam’s patience despite the fact that he’s leaking through his pants, the gentleness of his fingers and kisses on Zayn’s collarbones, is trying to make it good for him. That might be the strangest part. “Pull out a little bit, then push in. I think – “

 

Zayn’s voice cracks into a long, raspy groan as Liam’s finger pulls out and pushes back in, hitting a spot Zayn hadn’t ever felt before. Sparks run up and down his spine, a tight ball beginning to furl in his belly. “Add another.”

 

“You sure, babe?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Liam pulls out, and Zayn hears a plastic cap as he adds more lube. When his fingers go back to Zayn’s hole and push inside, their cold and gooseflesh breaks out across Zayn’s arms and legs. Liam laughs and kisses up Zayn’s forearm, rubbing his little bit of scruff across the skin. “Sorry.”

 

“’S okay.” Zayn mumbles, head rolling back on the pillow as two fingers slide inside, pressing lightly against sensitive spots he hadn’t felt earlier and then hard against his prostate. His back arches without his permission, and his hand’s surely shaking where it holds Liam’s neck.

 

“You’re so good, babe. Doing so good.” Liam purrs appreciatively against Zayn’s skin, pressing down on top of him to suck a spot on his neck. He feels higher than he ever has on weed or ecstasy, scratching at Liam’s shoulders as he massages inside him, sending waves of pleasure through Zayn’s limbs.

 

“One more, then I think I’m ready.”

 

“How about two more, then you’re ready?” Liam offers, kissing Zayn on the mouth quickly before pulling back. Zayn’s legs are splayed out over Liam’s lap widely, and he can see just a little bit through the slit of Liam’s pants that he’s completely hard.

 

“Do it fast.” Zayn demands, jerking himself off lightly to tease, Liam’s eyes dilating to big black circles at the sight. No sound comes out, but the Liam curses and adds more lube straight to Zayn’s hole, pushing in a third finger. It drips down him filthily, and Zayn shuts his eyes for just a moment to catch his breath.

Liam scissors and twists his fingers inside Zayn, his hole loose enough for easier movement. He’s open and vulnerable, especially laid out so wide in Liam’s lap, but he’s never felt freer. There’s nothing heavy on his shoulders right now, Craig doesn’t exist. It’s just him, Liam, and the taste of Slurpees and crisps.

 

“I need you.” Zayn begs, thrashing back and forth on the bed as Liam adds the tease of his pinky, stretching Zayn open further than he’s ever been. He tries to wrap his left leg around Liam and pull him in but Liam grabs it and presses it to the mattress firmly. “Please, right now, Liam. _Lee-yum_!”

 

“F- _fuck_ , okay. Okay.” Liam strokes Zayn’s stomach and chest as he pulls out, the loss made bearable by his hands on Zayn’s skin. “Let me get the condom, hold on.” He rolls off the bed, going to the bag they’d dropped by the tv. When he gets back, he shucks off his pants finally and Zayn can’t help himself.

 

He reaches out, stroking Liam’s hard length once before wrapping his lips around just the head. Liam moans, hand tightening in Zayn’s hair but not pushing. “Oh fuck, Zayn. So good.”

 

Zayn bobs just a little, saliva bleeding out of his mouth in his inexperience and eagerness. He knows he must look filthy, especially because Liam looks at him once, and then throws his head back to moan loudly to the ceiling.

 

He’s just starting to really get into it, the taste of salt on his tongue, when he feels a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, babe. I don’t want this to end so fast.”

 

They roll together into the middle of the mattress, condom packet clutched in Liam’s hand even as he presses it against the back of Zayn’s head, mouths entangled. Zayn strokes him once more, and then reaches for the condom. “Let me.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Zayn rips it open and rolls it down Liam’s dick, which is heavy in his palm and a deep desperate red. Zayn’s no less excited, his own dick standing up against his belly, head nearly purple. Once it’s on properly, Zayn rolls onto his back, grabbing for Liam who happily, and eagerly, reassumes his position at Zayn’s hips. “Like this? I hear it’s easier on your stomach for the first time – “

 

“Like this. Wanna see you.” Liam nods, kissing Zayn deeply and then sitting back up. There’s a light sheen of sweat across his chest, lingering in the curls there, and Zayn really is baffled by how lucky he is. This man is beautiful, the cheap lamp of the hotel room making him glow.

 

Liam pulls Zayn forward a little more onto his lap, and positions his dick before pushing slowly forward. It’s no bigger than the amount of fingers Liam had put in him already but it’s firmer, less forgiving. The blunt head seems to split Zayn open for a decade, and he groans, fingers bruising Liam’s hips, when it finally is fully inside him.

 

Liam asks him frequently how he’s doing, kissing his temple, and his mouth, and even his nose the entire time. He goes slow enough that when it does hurt, Zayn has a break, and time to breathe.

 

By the time Liam’s fully seated inside him, Zayn doesn’t feel any pain, just warm, gentle anticipation and the sensation of being very, very full. He strokes up Liam’s arms, legs wrapped around the boy’s waist. They kiss deeply, almost lazily, both of them high on each other.

 

Liam’s first thrust is small, gentle, but it makes Zayn’s eyes roll back in his head. “Oh.”

 

“Oh god, Zayn. It’s okay to move? It doesn’t hurt?”

 

“No, no babe, go on.” He presses his foot into Liam’s arse, and the boy pulls out almost completely and slowly sinks back in, each inch making Zayn’s mouth fall open around soft moans.

 

Liam thrusts harder, but stays slow, fucking Zayn intensely till his he feels like he can barely breathe from pleasure. This isn’t anything like Zayn’s experienced, not the brutality of Craig, not the high carelessness of a few women on the road, not the innocent sweet first kiss he had with a neighborhood boy when he was 11. This feels like being turned inside out and carefully explored, this feels like he’s in Liam’s hands completely, like he’s floating.

 

When Liam bends completely over Zayn, thrusting with a firm, slow motion into him, and buries his face in Zayn’s neck – it feels like making love. There’s nothing foreign about Liam, nothing strange or unknown about his body or his reactions. He feels like an extension of Zayn.

 

Eventually Liam comes, burying himself all the way inside Zayn and murmuring about how beautiful, how perfect, Zayn was. Zayn comes after a few jerks from Liam, shaking and moaning in his arms.

 

Afterwards, Liam pulls out, uses his t-shirt to sort of clean them up, and wraps Zayn up with him under the comforter. It’s cold, with the hotel air conditioner kicking on, but Zayn’s comfortable and warm entangled with Liam.

 

“Was that good?” Liam asks after they’ve both recovered. “Was I…the right person?”

 

Zayn whispers something he’s never called anyone before, right into the pink curve of Liam’s ear. “Jaan, you were perfect.”

 

“What’s that mean?” Liam asks, pulling back just enough to smile at him. His hairline is sweaty, and his eyes are hazy with post-orgasm catharsis, and his eyes crinkle with his smile. He’s more beautiful than anyone Zayn’s ever been this close to.

 

“It’s an endearment.” Zayn says, not going fully into the meaning. He doesn’t want to wax poetic yet about how he feels like he’s known Liam all his life, about how he can imagine them old and grey on a Portland porch swing, about how he already has a good hundred song lyric ideas bouncing around his head all about the color of Liam’s eyes.

 

“I like it.”

 

Zayn kisses Liam’s temple. “Good. Me too.”

 

* * *

 

Zayn doesn’t have a nightmare, or any dreams at all. In Liam’s arms, in Portland miles and miles away from England, he can’t be touched.


	4. liam pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zayn's road trip comes to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted to say once more, thank you guys for being so welcoming and kind with this being my first fic in 1D! i was so nervous about characterization, about my writing style, about picking something maybe too dark/sensitive for entry into a fandom but all of your comments have been so sweet so thank you!
> 
> i do want to write more fics, and i scream about zayn every day [@aubadezayn](http://aubadezayn.tumblr.com) so you can come scream with me if you want to!

“What do you mean you have to leave?” Liam asks flabbergasted, when Zayn casually throws out that he needs to pack over breakfast two weeks after they first meet. “You…but…”

 

“I did what I came for.” Zayn says, shrugging, not realizing the impact of his words. “I drove across the country. I guess I could keep going, hit all 48 but…I miss my sister.” He shovels in a bite of pancakes, delicious blueberry ones from Liam’s favorite downtown diner they’d hit up for breakfast nearly every day.

 

“I’m sure she misses you too.” Liam says softly, face fallen but still kind. Zayn reaches out for his hand, realizing from the broken look on his face that he’s upset him. He hadn’t wanted to do that; he never wants to hurt Liam.

 

“I…” He’s not sure what to say. That he’ll come back? That Liam should come with him? That they could try long distance? The last two weeks had been a whirlwind of emotion, new love dragging Zayn around by the scruff of his neck. But he couldn’t stay in Portland forever. He couldn’t stay away from Bradford, away from his sister forever. Running from Bradford wasn't the way he wanted to spend the rest of his life. “I can stay a little longer. You still have to show me the Portland aquarium, right?”

 

Liam smiles, though it doesn’t crinkle around his eyes, doesn’t fully suppress the sadness around his mouth. “Yeah, course.”

 

* * *

 

_Zayn really had loved singing. Since he was younger he’d been performing for his family, and when it had been just him and Doniya he’d sit her down and make her listen to little, bad audio clips he’d cooked up in his room. He was always singing, in the shower, in the car, in chorus class at school, with friends practicing the rap bits of all their favorites._

_Being on stage had been that enjoyment, that little pleasure of a hobby multiplied by a thousand._

_His first live show, with an actual label, had been to a crowd of about 300 in a clean, nice club in Holmes Chapel. They delivered real assorted chocolates to his dressing room, and the sound check crew and his new fancy personal assistant insisted on calling him Mr. Malik._

_Looking back now, he knows he had loved it, knows he’d been high off the crowds, high off the parties, high off being so good at something people would pay a lot to see you do it. It took a long time too, for him to realize, that Craig didn’t give him that._

_Craig pushed him to try, he negotiated the deal, but he didn’t own Zayn. He hadn’t given Zayn talent, and he hadn’t convinced people Zayn had talent when he didn’t either. The thing the fans actually loved, the thing that got him signed wasn’t Craig’s false charisma._

_It was **Zayn’s** voice._

 

* * *

 

They’re lounging in Liam’s apartment, Zayn idly plucking at an old, untuned acoustic Liam had in his closet while the other boy reads a dry old book for school, when there’s a knock on the door.

 

“Oh no.” Liam says ominously, as the doorknob jiggles, unlocks and the door swings open to reveal the person coming in.

 

Zayn’s fully prepared for a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or even just a roommate Liam didn’t want to explain this to. What he wasn’t prepared for was a small-ish, grinning ear to ear middle aged woman who comes rushing inside, and smiles at Zayn like he’s responsible for there being water on Earth.

 

“So here we have it!” She announces, hands on her hips. Liam rushes to stand up, but she continues. “The boy that’s got mine all in a tiff, goofy smiling every time I see him, talking about moving to _England_ of all places!”

 

“Mom, please – “

 

“No, no, I want to meet this boy who has my Liam smiling ear to ear every day. How are you darling? What’s your name?” She doesn’t actually give Zayn the chance to speak, sitting down on the coffee table next to him. “Liam won’t tell me anything about you, besides that you’re from England, you're road tripping, and you’re his new ' _friend_ '.”

 

“Um, I’m Zayn. Zayn Malik.” She takes one of Zayn’s hands in between both of hers and squeezes tight like a mother.

 

“It’s so lovely to meet you darling. My boy has the biggest crush on you - ”

 

“Mom, you’re being so embarrassing!” Liam honestly looks about to burst a blood vessel, or maybe stomp his foot like a toddler, and his Mum waves a hand at him.

 

“I’m just being friendly, dear!”

 

“You’re being pushy. Zayn, I’m so sorry about this.”

 

“Why don’t we all go out to lunch, eh? I have plenty of Liam’s baby photos scanned onto my phone that I’m sure you’d love to see Zayn, there’s one – “ She stands up, clapping her hands together like it’s a done deal.

 

“No!” Liam shouts, at the exact same time as Zayn grins, throws his arm around Liam’s mother and says, “Baby photos? I’d love to see that, Mrs. Payne.”

 

“Oh, hush up, Liam. You were such an angel when you were younger, Zayn will love it.” She starts towards the door, leaving Liam and Zayn to take up the back.

 

“I expect you to have at least one photo of you naked in the tub too, Zayn or I’ll unfriend you.” Liam threatens, pointing at him faux scarily.

 

“How about, we have lunch with your Mum, and I let you see me naked in the shower later?” Zayn offers amicably, grinning when Liam’s ears go bright pink, and he nods eagerly.

 

\--

 

“So this is Liam singing with his very first karaoke machine.” Karen, as Zayn now knows, says as she passes her phone to Zayn over the table. Zayn wipes his hand on a napkin before picking it up, Liam groaning in the background.

 

“Mom! My hair looks awful in that one.”

 

“You’re 9 dear, I really think Zayn will understand.”

 

Zayn looks down at the photo, a faded scan of a little boy with a big curly bowl cut, singing dramatically into a tiny microphone. When he scrolls right there’s another photo, this one with the boy’s arm thrust into the air, face screwed up like he’s Mariah Carey. Probably belting out each word with total confidence, even as notes waver on an untrained, but talented voice.

 

“You were adorable.” Zayn says, leaning over to kiss Liam’s cheek, just because he feels like it. Liam turns an endearing light pink.

 

“I have one of me, I think.” Zayn offers as a consolation for the embarrassment. “I was a cute kid.”

 

“Oh, come on. If you were a cute kid, too, that’s just not fair.” Liam whines jokingly, hand near Zayn’s on the table, pinky brushing against Zayn’s mandala tattoo.

 

Zayn scrolls through his Facebook till he finds an old birthday post from Doniya, and then taps on one of his youngest photos. To him, it looks almost nothing like him, seems like a completely different person, but when he passes his phone to Liam he says immediately, “Wow, you look exactly the same.”

 

“Really?” Zayn asks. “I don’t see it; I mean I do, it’s me, but…”

 

“Is this your sister?” Liam asks, pointing to a much younger Doniya holding his hand in another photo. She has her hair in braids, and Zayn’s tiny toddler fist clutched tight in hers.

 

“Yeah,” Zayn clears his throat, reaching for his water. “That’s Doniya.”

 

“She’s very pretty.” Karen says, changing the subject to something about Liam’s first public performance, sensing somehow that Zayn’s getting emotional.

 

He’s thankful for it, a swell of loneliness rushing over him that only comes from missing a sibling. It’s been days since he or Doniya have texted, weeks since they’ve called each other, and even longer since he’d seen her in person.

 

Maybe…it’s time to go home.

 

\--

 

“I don’t want you to go.” Liam whispers, fingers scratching gently at Zayn’s scalp where his hands are buried in thick black hair. They’re tangled up on Liam’s bed, bodies close, listening to a Spotify mix of R&B hits. “That’s selfish isn’t it?” Liam’s leg lays heavy over Zayn’s hip, but he never wants to move.

 

“No." Zayn shakes his head, nudging Liam's chin. "I don’t want to either.”

 

“Then don’t.” Liam says, kissing the corner of Zayn’s mouth before kissing him fully. Zayn feels something wet drop onto his cheek, and pulls Liam closer to him to try to stop the feeling that they’re drifting apart already.

 

He misses home, he misses Doniya, but the idea of never seeing Liam again? Excruciating. Impossible to even consider.

 

“You can stay, and we’ll move in together, and have breakfast with my Mom every Sunday.” Liam describes, his voice hurried and desperate, and a little choked up. Zayn runs his hand soothingly up and down Liam’s spine, savoring how he smells and feels. The sound of his voice hopefully forever embedded in his mind. “We can get a dog, or a cat, whatever you want. And we’ll go to Powell’s all the time, and you can take classes with me ... or you can sing! Lots of live clubs and festivals in Portland who’d love to have you.”

 

“That sounds fantastic, babe.” Zayn says, completely honestly. It sounds like a dream, a fantasy. “But I gotta go home. I have to see my sister.”

 

“She could come too…” Liam whispers sadly. “My Mom would love her.”

 

“I love you.” Zayn says, heart breaking when Liam’s hand clutches tight at the back of his shirt.

 

“I love you too.” The unspoken plea _Don’t leave_ resonates through Zayn even though it never leaves either of their mouths. Zayn kisses him hard, vowing as much as he can that this isn’t the end.

 

It’s not goodbye, just…a hiatus, a pause.

 

“Can I drive you to the airport at least?” Liam asks, voice quiet and resigned. “You can leave your car here until you’re settled – “

 

“I want you to have it.” Zayn says suddenly, surprising himself. “I don’t need it back home and…I just want you to keep it.”

 

He also plans on leaving the Deadpool book he’d bought, as much as he loves it himself, he wants Liam to remember him more. Maybe if he leaves enough behind, it’ll draw him back one day.

 

"You sure?" Liam asks dubiously. Zayn nods, and he feels Liam exhale slowly, deeply.

 

“Okay.”

 

\--

 

Liam drives him to the airport the next day in his own car, and hugs him goodbye outside security. They cling to each other for longer than is probably appropriate after only a few weeks, but not nearly long enough to stop it from hurting. Zayn knows he has to go home, it’s like an itch in the middle of his back, but he wishes that he didn’t.

 

He wishes Liam’s fantasy was already true, that they’d grown up singing karaoke together, and Doniya was like a big sister to them both. He wishes that he could have just one more breakfast with Karen, one more walk around downtown, one more night of just laying in bed cuddling with Liam till they get slowly, gently turned on.

 

They hold on until people walking by start giving them strange, suspicious looks and then Zayn kisses him hard once, twice, and finally a third and last time. “I love you, ‘lright?” Zayn whispers against Liam’s mouth, nuzzling the little bit of scruff on his jawline. “I know that’s crazy but – “

 

“Go home, see your sister, get your music back.” Liam cuts him off, hand cupping Zayn’s cheek. “And I’ll see you, okay? _Soon_.”

 

Zayn keeps " _soon_ " in the forefront of his mind as he boards, forcing himself to not run back.

 

* * *

 

Zayn gets to Bradford at 5 in the morning, jetlagged and cranky from being on a flight for so long. He can’t stop shaking his leg, which the taxi driver seems to have noticed since he asks him if he’s okay several times. It’s like nothing has changed out the window, but he feels different. He feels completely different.

 

He got a text from Liam just after they landed that was just a photo of him, and the vintage Batman poster Zayn had left in the car for him. “You left this x”, Liam wrote and Zayn’s still wondering whether it will be more hopeful, or final if he says he’s giving it to him.

 

It’s easy to hope that if he leaves enough in Liam’s care that he’ll go back for it, but it’s just as easy to feel like leaving it all behind makes it distant, fake. Will a few weeks pass, and he’ll have forgotten everything about Liam, about Portland, about the US? Will the only sign he’d ever been there by the black heart on his hip, and the youtube video of him and Niall?

 

He wishes he’d gotten a tattoo or something with Liam, something solid he couldn’t leave behind.

 

“This it, mate?” The driver asks when they roll up outside Zayn’s flat complex.

 

“Yeah, thank you.”

 

“Sure, sure.” Zayn passes him the cash for his fare, and takes his duffle from the trunk. A month in America, and he’s come back with nothing more than what he went with. He wonders if the flat, if Doniya, is as consistent as he is.

 

Walking to their flat is as familiar as if he’d never left, and he knocks on the door feeling strange without his key.

 

“Zayn!?” Doniya shouts when she opens the door, pouncing on him. Her arms squeeze the air right out of him, but it’s nice. It’s nice to be held by her when he’s not covered in his own snot, tears, or vomit.

 

“Hey, how are you?” He asks, as she drags him into the flat, his duffle nearly being left outside.

 

“How are you back? I would have picked you up from the airport if you told me, you prat!” She slaps him on the arm and he laughs.

 

“I wanted to surprise you.”

 

“Well, did you get me anything?” She holds out her hand, bending her fingers in a “gimme” sort of motion.

 

“Here.” Zayn passes her a wrapped box from his duffle, and leans against the counter while she opens it. Liam had done the wrapping, folding each corner precisely and making sure none of the tape showed. Nothing much has changed besides some very minor decorating things, their hand towels hanging on the oven are now blue instead of red, and there’s a chair missing from the dining table set.

 

“A mug?” She says when she opens it, turning it around to see the design. “Portland? Why Portland?”

 

“It was the last stop of my road trip.” Zayn says. “It’s a real nice city.”

 

“I’d love to go one day…” Doniya says, tracing the designs idly with the tips of her nails, and then looking up at him again. “You look so good, habibi. I’m so glad you’re home.”

 

They wrap each other up in a tight hug again, and Zayn realizes nothing has changed. Tons of states, a full continent, lots of money – nothing’s changed except he no longer feels like he can’t stand.

 

He thought he had to come back to Bradford, go full circle, finish things, but he hadn’t. He’d already finished them, maybe from the moment he left Craig behind, maybe from the moment he drove out of Miami.

 

Maybe when he kissed Liam for the first time.

 

\--

 

“So…” Doniya starts, a twirl of spaghetti wrapped around her fork. They’re eating dinner at the table tonight instead of in front of the television because it’s a special occasion, though Zayn kind of wishes they’d gone out, or just forgone this formality, since he’s tired and not much up to conversation. “You meet someone in America?”

 

“What?” Zayn nearly drops spaghetti in his lap. “How did you know?”

 

“Well you just confirmed it.” She points out, putting a forkful of spaghetti in her mouth and chewing smugly. “Also…you look really happy, Zayn. I don’t know if you’d be able to see it in yourself, but the change is so obvious to _me_. Who are they?”

 

Zayn hesitates for just a second, then stiffens his jaw. “He’s in Portland. His name is Liam.”

 

“You have a picture?”

 

Zayn pulls out his phone, seeing a text from Harry who’s taken to sending him photos every single time he takes a bath, or makes a smoothie, which is surprisingly frequent. He clicks to his camera roll and finds the handful of selfies Liam had taken of them, and the few Zayn had snuck of Liam when he wasn’t looking. It hurts to look at the selfies, most of them taken in Liam’s bed or Zayn’s hotel room, so he swipes to one he’d taken of Liam with a mouthful of pancakes at the diner and gives Doniya his phone.

 

“I met a couple other really great people too, the guy you seen sing with me and his friend, and uh, Harry Styles.”

 

Doniya’s head snaps up from looking at Liam. “You met Harry Styles? Like the design show guy?”

 

“Yeah, in Atlanta. He’s nice.”

 

“You gotta introduce me somehow. He makes the most beautiful living rooms; I wonder if he’d do our flat...” Then she realizes that she’s still holding Zayn’s phone and looks back down at the photo, tapping the screen to brighten it. “He’s adorable, how’d you meet?”

 

“In a bookstore.” Zayn says, taking his phone back.

 

“Ahh, a proper meet-cute, huh?” Doniya taps her nails against the table, obviously wanting to say something else but holding back.

 

“What is it?” Zayn asks sternly, seeing straight through her.

 

“It’s just…” Doniya shakes her head. “No, it’s fine, are you done?” She grabs Zayn’s plate before he can respond and walks away into the kitchen.

 

“Hey, no, say whatever it is.” Zayn follows after her. Her back’s to him as she scraps the leftover food into the bin, and starts scrubbing them in the sink. “Do you not…like him?” He asks, even though it’s completely ridiculous that she wouldn’t. She’s seen one photo of him, she can’t not like him on just that basis.

 

“No, that’s – “ Doniya turns off the sink, and turns around, her expression conflicted. “That’s not it. I’m just wondering…why _did_ you come back?”

 

Zayn’s floored for a moment, stunned into silence. Why did he come back? What kind of question was that?

 

“I came back because Bradford is home, because…‘cause you’re here!” Zayn crosses his arms. “My life is here, of course I came back.”

 

“What life though, Zayn?” Doniya asks softly, looking like it pains her to say it, but needs to be said. “Your job at Tesco? Our cheap flat? Are you planning on going back to the music? College?”

 

“What are you talking about? I’m – I’m confused; did you not want me to come back?”

 

“Zayn, I’m not trying to hurt you!” Doniya snaps, cursing under her breath in Urdu. “I’m just trying to _understand_ , I’m trying to understand why you left on an American road trip to begin with and why you came back when you’re clearly missing that boy! You came back, but you don’t have anymore of a plan now than you did before you left, do you?”

 

“Doniya, you know what it was like before I left, I’m not like that anymore. I’m _better_ – “

 

“Yes, you are.” Her expression softens. “You are better, Zayn, but you didn’t get better here in this flat with me. Or in Bradford.”

 

“Am I supposed to just _move_ to America?” Zayn asks, tone incredulous even as the idea sits so right in his mind. He’d like living in Portland, he thinks, and he’d love being with Liam. But could he just leave Bradford, leave Doniya…again? It had gone so poorly the first time, what if Liam changed? What if things turned sour?

 

“Why not?” Doniya shrugs, though not meanly. “I just want you to be happy, habibi. You’ve left Bradford twice now, and not to go to London or Manchester but to bloody tour Europe or to drive the continental US. You could do it one more time.”

 

“What if it doesn’t work out? What if I go and it’s the wrong decision – “

 

“Does it feel like it?” Doniya cuts him off.

 

“No…” Zayn says, knowing that he believes that with his entire heart. Liam’s nothing like Craig, Zayn’s nothing like the boy that left Bradford to become a star those years ago. He trusts Liam more than he ever trusted Craig, after just a handful of weeks. He trusts _himself_ more than he did back then. “But what about you? I don’t want to leave you again.”

 

“Zaynie…” Doniya comes closer, breaching the space between them. She takes his hand in hers. “You’ve always been my responsibility, my baby brother, I’ve always felt like you were my own. But you don’t have to worry about me, and we don’t have to be in the same flat, or the same country, for you to be 110% sure that I love you, and I’m praying for you, and I’d be there in a heartbeat if you needed me.”

 

“More like twelve hours.” Zayn mutters, starting to smile though, especially when Doniya laughs.

 

“Well it would go fast.”

 

“You could come with me…if you wanted to. Liam’s already told me he’s pretty excited about you having brunch with his Mum.” Zayn’s stomach is all tied up in knots as the reality starts to sink in. He’s actually considering this! Doniya’s practically given her blessing, pushed him out the door. He’s been back for less than a day but he’s already considering when the soonest flight out to Portland is.

 

“Actually…while you were gone, I got a promotion at the salon, and Alma and I are seriously considering opening our own sometime soon, we’ve started the paperwork for like, the loans and stuff – “

 

“That’s amazing!” Zayn bursts out, his smile fully blown into a grin now. “That’s – that’s really great, Doniya, you should do it.”

 

“As long as you let me actually drive you to the airport this time.”

 

“I can do that.”

 

* * *

 

“How did you talk me into this again?”

 

“I said I’d introduce you to Harry Styles, interior designer extraordinaire.” Zayn laughs, still mocking Doniya’s enthusiasm from weeks ago about Harry. Who he’d texted to tell him about his biggest fan, and Harry had immediately promised that if she’d let him, he’d decorate the salon for her. Doniya had looked like she might pass out right there in their kitchen when Zayn had read her off the text. “Plus you wanted to see Portland.”

 

“Yeah, but 1. I should be at the salon and 2. I hate flying.” Doniya’s hands clutch the arm rests tight as the flight attendants begin their safety procedures.

 

“1. The salon is fine in Alma’s hands. 2. Me too, you think we should have just popped a Xanax and tried to sleep through this?” Zayn puts his phone on airplane mode, smiling at Liam’s last text to him which was a meme of Bob Belcher, and then a goofy voice recording of him mimicking the character’s voice. He hadn’t told Liam he was coming back to Portland, wanting to keep it a surprise, and also being too terrified to mention it.

 

They texted frequently, and Liam told him he loved him casually like Zayn had never left, but every time Zayn tried to type out the words ‘I’m coming back’ he’d freeze up.

 

“You pop stars and your drug habits.” Doniya shakes her head, though her fear of planes kills some of the teasing’s effect as she’s shaking like a branch in a storm.

 

Zayn takes his sister’s hand in his. “It’ll be okay, sis. I made this flight twice.”

 

“Ugh.” Doniya groans, squeezing his. Then she levels him with a serious expression and asks exactly what Zayn didn’t want her to. “Did you tell him yet?”

 

“Not…yet.” Zayn rolls his eyes, mostly at himself. “I can’t work up the nerve.”

 

“You just have to do it. In sha’ Allah, he’ll love you still and you can sail off into the sunset together, and you can bring him home to Bradford for holiday.”

 

“So you won’t have to fly to Portland for my birthday?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

* * *

 

 

_When Zayn was on tour, his drummer for a show proposed to his girlfriend in between sets. Right there on stage._

 

_She was part of sound tech, and he had the whole crew and band in on the scheme, getting her up there trying to work on his mic even though it wasn’t broken. Zayn had hovered to the side watching, waiting for that magical moment when Rodrick would slide down to one knee and she’d cry, and say yes, and they’d kiss and fireworks would go off._

 

_It was magical, but not like the movies show. Rodrick slid to one knee and the crowd barely seemed to notice, they didn’t seem to care much if it wasn’t Zayn and they were kind of in the shaded back of the stage. Kate cried but it was ugly, loud, her whole face puffing up and her hands shaking like she’d just received terrible news._

 

_She said yes, they kissed, but there were no fireworks._

_At least not for Zayn, or the other various onlookers, but there was magic. Zayn had seen it, in Rodrick’s quivering bottom lip desperately kissing his soon-to-be wife, in the way she rolled the ring around on her finger like she couldn’t believe it was there. It was magical not because everyone was in awe, or the whole world stopped to watch, but because she’d said yes._

_They loved each other, didn’t matter what any of it looked like._

_Zayn remembers wanting it so badly._

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you’re actually just going to show up on his doorstep.” Doniya nags him in the taxi leaving the airport.

 

“I’m not, we’re going to a hotel.” Zayn points out, reminding the taxi driver of the address and thanking him for taking them.

 

“Yeah, then you’re going to show up on his doorstep.”

 

“No, then I’m going to Powell’s. I’m gonna buy him a present.” He’s already thinking about all the books he could get Liam, all the ones they’ve discussed since he’s been gone, all the rare or expensive or indulgent ones Liam had shown him when he was still there.

 

“Okay, _then_ you’re going to show up on his doorstep.”

 

“Yeah.” Zayn shrugs. The plan isn’t great but he’s feeling confident anyway.

 

“That’s crazy, you know.” Doniya laughs, looking between him and the view out the window. He can tell she’s more excited about the trip now that they’re off the plane.

 

“Never said I was sane.”

 

\--

 

Zayn finds himself back in that comic section of Powell’s, thinking of that first moment. He had no idea back then, that a boy who would drop a big book on his foot would have him so wrapped up. That he’d actually uproot his life and move it across the world for him.

 

He scans the comics trying to decide what would be the best to show up with. He didn’t want to get something Liam had, or didn’t want, or didn’t even like though that was pretty senseless worrying since they talked about it a lot, even when Zayn had left.

 

Liam was a lengthy texter, and Zayn admits he completely loves it.

 

He’s just about to grab a Captain Marvel with a metallic spine when he’s shoved hard from the left and then pulled into a tight, abrupt hug. “What the - !” He starts to shout before he smells that cologne, and realizes exactly who is holding him. “Liam, what are you doing here!?”

 

“I could ask you the same thing!” Liam snaps, though he sounds happy. He doesn’t pull away, arms tight around Zayn like he might never let go. “What are you doing in Portland? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?”

 

“It was going to be a surprise.” Zayn says, pulling away just enough that he can get his hands braced on Liam’s biceps and take a good look at him. He looks the same, which isn’t surprising it’s only been a couple of months since he left, but his scruff is getting a little long. His smile is just as brilliant and radiant as Zayn remembers, maybe more. “You happy to see me?” He whispers teasingly.

 

He can’t seem to pull away from him, even as people filter around them. His body won’t let go of Liam yet, maybe he never will.

 

“So happy.” Liam agrees, leaning in to kiss Zayn, mouth sweet and soft with chapstick. Zayn thinks that this is the magic his drummer had that night, quiet, private. Liam’s tongue, Liam’s lips, the feel of his beard – it’s all just Zayn’s.

 

“Zayn! There you are – oh!”

 

Liam pulls back, disentangling them like they’ve been caught by his Mum but Zayn reels him back in with an arm around his waist. “Liam, this is my sister Doniya. Doniya, this is my Liam.”

 

“Sister? Sister! Oh, hi, I’m Liam.” Liam says belatedly, reaching out to shake Zayn’s sister’s hand enthusiastically.

 

“I’m Doniya. You’re cuter than your cuddly selfies showed you.”

 

Liam punches Zayn in the arm, “You showed her those?”

 

“Not all of them.” Zayn whispers, hand soothing on Liam’s lower back under his jacket.

 

“So did he say yes? You told him then?” Doniya asks, plowing straight through Zayn’s plan and destroying it. “I swear, I thought I’d have to do it for you – “

 

“Doniya!”

 

“Say yes to what?” Liam and he speak at the same time. Liam cocks an eyebrow at him questioningly and Zayn sighs, gritting his teeth and readying his stomach like he’s at the top of a very scary rollercoaster.

 

“Say yes to…maybe…moving in with me? Since I’m movin’ to Portland?” He feels like he’s just gotten into Tower of Terror, and any second from now he’ll go plummeting to the bottom.

 

That same magic that he’d seen on Kate’s face, that same raw, intimate happiness spreads across Liam’s like the sun rising on a beautiful morning. His smile grows till it crinkles his eyes and gives him dimples and makes Zayn’s heart break and heal in rapid succession. “You’re moving to Portland?”

 

“Gotta be with my boyfriend, right?”

 

Liam kisses him, whispering the words “Yes, yes, yes” between kisses til it’s just them. There’s no bookstore, there’s no Doniya, there’s no past, there’s just Liam and the future.

 

He might not know where this will go, if it’ll even last past a month, if they’ll kill each other a day after moving in together. He might not know every fact about Liam, he might not know what his own plan is.

 

But he knows he’s here, he knows he’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, please comment and let me know what you thought!


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